Redemption, Rejuvenation
by A Hairy Burrito
Summary: At the end of the day, one must ultimately decide: What does he fight for? A novelization of the Sith Warrior story line.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

 **Korriban**

 **The Overseer**

Hot.

It was always hot on the Sith home world of Korriban, but Overseer Tremel had long stopped paying such minor details any mind.

Dedicating one's life to lofty and far-reaching goals like preserving the way of the Sith and assuring their continued superiority over the masses had a way of doing that to a person.

Still, it was a most worthy goal, and Tremel was more than prepared to pay any price to see his vision fulfilled. And as he stood on the landing pad waiting for his newest acolyte to arrive from off world, Tremel knew full well that this latest undertaking could very well be his last. After all, one did not cross a being such as Darth Baras lightly, no matter what the end goal.

 _Hopefully this acolyte proves to be all that his instructors have claimed him to be. The sheer potential he has shown so far…_

Tremel knew that his plan was a long shot. Overseers did not have any jurisdiction in the process of apprentice selection, as the incident with Overseer Harkun a few months back had shown. The man had managed to escape from that situation very lightly indeed, all things considered.

 _Then again, Lady Zash always was one of the stranger ones. I never could pin down just what that labyrinthine mind of hers was planning. Still…_

Still, her stunning selection of a human former slave over a carefully groomed and prepared Pureblood showcased clearly for all that Sith Lords, at the end of the day, do what Sith Lords do. Tremel only hoped that the…irregularities that he had heard about his latest trainee would not dissuade Baras from making the right decision.

 _"_ _Behavior unbecoming a Sith."_

 _"_ _Contemptible and irrational decision making."_

 _"_ _Occasionally indulges in acts of mercy, contrary to all that makes a Sith."_

At the end of the day, the acolyte's performance reviews by his instructors were all marred by one simple, though expressed in many different, and sometimes colorful ways, blemish.

The acolyte had, for lack of better words, a soft spot.

This, above all else, worried Tremel the most. Any sort of weakness, perceived, real, or otherwise, could completely derail all of his carefully laid plains, both past and present. It could lead to the downfall of the Sith as he knew them. He could not, _would not,_ allow this, no matter how extreme the actions he had to take with his new acolyte were. Tremel _would_ bring him into line.

Oh he had already read the reports, about how the instructors would try to bring the acolyte into line using all matters of devices and powers. Mandatory visits with the inquisitors for tastes of Force lightning, various mind-altering drugs to heighten aggression; one visiting Sith Lord who had fancied himself a technological expert had even tried using a device that he claimed would force the impudent acolyte to obey every suggestion given to him by his betters.

Tremel chuckled softly as he thought of the last one. Apparently the device had failed spectacularly after much theatrical build up on the part of the Lord, though details were scarce. The report had simply ended with: _Honored_ _Lord Necrosis departed Ziost rather swiftly after this demonstration._

 _So be it, if brute force cannot persuade him, then I shall simply have to start with persuasion. If nothing else, the change of tactics should throw him enough to win me a foothold in his mind. Of course, I may have to become rather nasty. Nothing too permanently damaging though._

Suddenly Tremel saw a glimpse of durasteel in the sky and glanced upwards. He knew even before he had completed the motion that his acolyte, his _destiny_ , had arrived.

And so it was that Tremel stalked forward to greet the new arrival on this dead world, where statues of long dead Sith crumbled and slaves cursed and were driven mad by the power of the Dark Side, to welcome the future of the Sith Order.

It was going to be _glorious._

 ** _A/N: Quick note to all you beautiful people who are so nicely reading this: thank you. This is my first step in the world of writing fanfiction, and I'm highly excited about it. Hopefully you'll have just as much fun reading it as I am writing it. Standard disclaimer applies: I'm merely a poor college student, not the owner of Star Wars._**


	2. Welcome to Korriban

_Chapter 1: Welcome to Korriban_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

Emron sat in silence, contemplating his situation as the shuttle he was being transported in bounced its way through another bout of turbulence.

 _Korriban, the perfect embodiment of the ideals of the Sith Order. Promises of power balanced perfectly with guarantees of a painful death, be it sooner or later._

It wasn't hard to feel sheer amount of power that Korriban radiated, indeed, practically embodied. Even a deaf and blind non-Force sensitive child would be able to feel it. It was nourishing, it was draining. It promised to fulfill all of one's greatest and most secret desires, if only they were willing to sacrifice all that they held dear. Korriban was the Dark Side made manifest, and it was a beacon to all those who would call themselves Sith.

To Emron, it was a curious mixture of a fresh start after his days on Ziost, while still managing to feel like more of the same. On the one hand, he had finally been considered worth sending to Korriban for further training, due partly to the fact that he had been among the handful that had survived up until that point. However, at the same time he knew exactly what awaited him: more of the brutal training regimen that all Sith prospects and hopefuls were subjected to at the hands of sadistic instructors and overseers; more of the backstabbing and betrayals between trainees hoping to gain a momentary advantage in the ruthless game known as survival. Emron might have managed to ascend to acolyte status, but he highly doubted that the surviving Sith prospectives became the living embodiment of rainbows and nexu cubs just because they had left Ziost for a new world. He certainly had not.

He had also certainly not been fooled as to why he was being sent here. Although the instructor had to tried to play it off as sending him to die in a more humiliating and painful fashion than he could provide, the fat oaf had not fooled Emron for one minute, largely due his inability to keep himself from shooting his mouth off whenever he thought Emron was out of hearing range.

 _It's a miracle this Overseer Tremel has managed to survive this long with incompetent underlings like the esteemed instructor. Which makes him either incredibly lucky, skilled at making himself seem less of a threat than he actually is, or he just has a bad case of an overinflated ego with equally sized ambitions. Only one of those possibilities is reassuring._

The shuttle bounced again, jostling Emron and the three Imperial soldiers that sat across from him. He turned and gazed at the largest of the three, while the man's polarized helmet stared impassively back. Ostensibly, the soldiers were there to prevent him from making any sort of escape attempt – not that Emron knew of anywhere he could escape to, not counting perhaps Hutt space. In reality, they had assigned to him to ensure that he arrived the trip to Korriban intact. It was, after all, not unheard of for rogue Sith Lords to abduct promising acolytes for their own training. The now exiled Sith Lord Tytonus had been infamous for the act, ultimately claiming upwards of fifteen prospectives. It had been one of the leading causes for her banishment.

"My Lord? We'll be making landfall in about one minute, Sir."

Emron broke his stare with the Imperial soldier, whom he was convinced had actually fallen asleep behind his helmet, and turned to look at the copilot. The man had stuck his head and upper torso out of the cockpit and was looking at Emron expectantly.

"Thank you pilot," Emron said dismissively, mentally preparing himself for his encounter with Overseer Tremel.

The man ducked back into his seat, and true to his word, one minute later Emron felt the landing gear descend and hit the landing pad.

* * *

Bright.

Bright and hot.

These were Emron's first impression of the Sith home world of Korriban. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness after the darkness in the shuttle, he began to take in the world that he would be calling home for the indeterminable future.

He certainly was not on Ziost anymore. Here enormous, ancient statues of Sith Lords bent down in supplication, and intricate, though faded, chiseled artwork adorned the massive tombs that dominated the rust-colored valley. Hundreds of slaves, soldiers, and acolytes swarmed over these tombs, slaves working to unearth and restore them while the soldiers and acolytes watched over them, ensuring that the slaves did not dare to deface them. Dozens of heavy turbolaser batteries mounted on sweeping fortifications pointed upwards. Above it all towered the Sith Academy, the massive gray-stoned ziggurat dominating the valley and partially blotting out Korriban's star, the ultimate show of Sith return to dominance. Topping off the awe-inspiring scene were several _Harrower-_ class dreadnoughts that floated in the lower atmosphere, a not-so-subtle reminder that even if one managed to escape their work detail, there was ultimately no escaping the Empire's hold over them. Emron thought that if he squinted he could make out the _Gage-_ class transport that had brought him here, the _Empire's Grip._

As he turned his gaze downwards he spied a dark-skinned man dressed in black waiting for him in the shadows cast by the landing pad facility. Emron figured this was Overseer Tremel, his new master. He momentarily wondered how the man could stand the heat in an outfit like that. Emron was wearing a black outfit himself, albeit nothing as heavy as the one Tremel was wearing, and he still felt like he would pass out if he remained out in the sun for too long. Then the two made eye contact and the Overseer made his way forward. Emron likewise descended down the ramp of the shuttle, flanked by two of the soldiers that had accompanied him, a woman and the large man from earlier, while the third remained inside, probably to ensure no one tried to slip onboard. After making it a quarter of the way to the facility, his escort stopped, turned and bowed to him, then made their way back to the shuttle.

Emron turned around to watch the shuttle take off and head back to the _Grip_ , well aware of the subtle message sent by its departure: _There is no turning back now._ Resuming his walk, he saw Tremel come to a stop near a pile of crates that had been stacked haphazardly near one of the facility entrances.

 _Typical power statement,_ Emron thought. _I am in control here, thus you will come to me. How far I have just walked is a measure of my patience. The usual Sith deal._

As he strode the last few meters between the two of them, he could feel Tremel's eyes taking in his every move: watching, assessing, judging; seeing if Emron matched up with everything he had been undoubtedly told. Emron hoped he did, as he had no illusions as to what would happen to the both of them if he failed in even the slightest.

After perhaps the longest moment in Emron's life, Tremel gave the slightest of nods. Apparently he had passed inspection.

"Welcome to Korriban acolyte. I am your new master, Overseer Tremel. We have much vital work to do, and time is very much at a premium." The man's accent practically dripped Dromund Kaas. "The first order of business: we get you a weapon. Follow me," he said, as he turned and walked into the landing facility, with Emron following.

As the pair entered the facility, Tremel walked over to the left wall and pulled a practice saber off a rack on the wall. Turning around, he handed it to Emron.

"This is a crude weapon but it will suffice until you can retrieve something more fitting a prospective of your potential. That shall be your first task. Outside this facility is the tomb of Ajunta Pall. Inside are ancient armories which contain weapons which will suffice. Go now, retrieve one of them, and should you survive, meet me in the Academy. We will have much to discuss."

"Yes Overseer," Emron dutifully replied, though in his mind he desperately tried to recall all he had heard about ancient Sith tombs and their contents. None of his recollections assuaged his nervousness.

* * *

 _What was that saying again? "Worse than I had hoped, better than I had feared?" Definitely applies to the situation right now._

The Tomb of Ajunta Pall was definitely not a place Emron ever planned to revisit. Not at this rate.

 _Don't worry, I'm sure the Overseer will make sure I go on a romp through the rest of the dozen or so tombs I saw back on the landing pad. Better extend that non-vacation policy to the entire planet at this rate._

The troubles had begun almost as soon as he had entered the Tomb. Upon entering he had been greeted by an Imperial sergeant by the name of Cormun, who had reported that the tomb was infested with creatures known as K'lor'slugs, which had annihilated three of his squads, and were capable of swallowing humans whole. What the Sergeant had failed to mention was just how many of the 'Slugs there were to warrant his usage of the term "infestation." And just how many teeth the damn things had.

 _The Sergeant may just be an understated master of understatement,_ Emron thought wryly.

His training saber was long-gone, not that it had been all that useful in the first place. Even turned up to its maximum power setting Emron had mostly ended up simply bludgeoning the 'Slugs to death, until the blade finally snapped in two and he had ended up impaling a particularly large 'Slug with the broken end. After that he had mostly stuck to the shadows, and ran like frak if he was spotted.

Thankfully the tomb itself proved useful when it came to sneaking around, even though it thoroughly spooked Emron out. It wasn't just the crumbling and decaying architecture that sent shivers down his spine, but that detail in combination with the oppressive Dark Side presence, overly large bugs, and the way the shadows seemed to have a mind of their own, certainly did the trick. Emron swore that he sometimes saw eyes staring out from the shadows, as if they were watching him themselves. He definitely did not to spend any more time in here than he had to.

Somehow though, as he gazed down from a long forgotten workman's catwalk high up in the shadows, there was sentient life down here. Of course, whether or not it was sane sentient life at this point was a point for scholarly debate, and the scholars certainly wouldn't be caught dead this far in here.

 _Tomb looters, the lowest of the low. How they haven't been eaten by the 'Slugs is beyond me, but perhaps even the 'Slugs have enough sense not to delve this far inside. Of course, all that stolen heavy Imperial weaponry pointing in every direction probably helps increase their life span. How are they even planning on getting these stolen relics off planet?_

Emron gave it a moment's thought then shrugged. _Something to mention to the Overseer. Right now I need to get by these crazies. Preferably without being shot by enough weapons to bring down an Imperial Assault Walker._

The catwalk gave out about five meters in front of him, and while that was enough to get him to a point where he could jump past the looter camp, it would also mean his descent would take him into a very deep, very dark pit. Not a desirable course of action by most standards.

 _Stuck inside an ancient Sith Lord's tomb with only my wits and a thermal detonator that the Sergeant gave me in case the remote detonator for that egg chamber was eaten. I suppose I've been through worse._

That was when he noticed them. It seemed like the K'lor'slugs were indeed still trying to sample the looters in preparation for their next feast, but had been sufficiently dissuaded in the past by the heavy weaponry and were hanging back a respectable distance.

 _But still within rushing distance the minute the looters let their guard down or try moving their camp. An interesting conundrum for the looters, and just maybe…_

There. What looked to be crates containing power packs and heavy weapon chargers for the looter weapons. Destroying them would cripple the ability of the looters to continue to defend their illicit operations. Even if they were not, they had to be something important, like food.

 _It would be interesting, if nothing else, to see who starves first: myself or the looters. Whoever keels over first from hunger, it certainly won't be the 'Slugs._

More importantly the explosion would cause a moment of mass confusion and havoc which would allow the K'lor'slugs to test their luck at turning the camp into an all-you-can-eat buffet, creating even more confusion. Even if they failed it would still allow Emron to slip through the camp and on to the armories. Hopefully the armories had another way of exiting, as he had no idea as to what he would do if he had to make his way back through the camp.

With such cheery thoughts in mind, Emron primed the detonator and launched it forward, landing it right beside the stockpile. With a massive detonation the pile and half the camp went up in a glorious fireball so large Emron feared he might be spotted all the way up in the rafters. This had three immediate results.

One, the looters were taken completely by surprise as around a third of their numbers were suddenly vaporized by a mysterious explosion. The smarter and more sane ones might have suspected that someone not part of their group had been responsible for the destruction of their stores if result number two had not interrupted their trains of thought. Result number two being, of course, a tidal wave of 'Slugs rushing the defenders who stood slack jawed as they stared at the aforementioned fireball.

Result number three was something that Emron knew he would slap himself for not thinking of before throwing later. The chamber began to shake and rumble as bits and shards of masonry started falling from the ceiling, these fragments being the only warning provided before massive chunks of masonry came crashing down on defenders and 'Slugs alike.

As the antechamber that the camp occupied came to life with the sounds of blaster fire, explosions, K'lor'slug screams, and crashing masonry, Emron allowed himself a second of awe at the carnage he had just unleashed. Then a piece of masonry took out the catwalk and he snapped out of his reverie as he leaped into the camp.

 _I really need to get some more of those,_ he thought as he landed feet first on a looter, snapping the unfortunate looter's neck. Bending over and picking up the dead man's blaster, he proceeded to charge full tilt towards the armory steps, not even bothering to change direction to avoid a burly looter toting an overly large assault cannon, instead shoulder checking him as he flashed past. The man stumbled forwards, directly into a large pack of 'Slugs. The poor soul didn't even have time to scream before he was torn into so many bloody shreds.

 _Better you than me I suppose,_ Emron reflected as he scampered down the steps and turned into what he assumed was the armory.

The armory proved to be another large chamber containing what looked to be sarcophagi standing upright and scattered haphazardly throughout the room, while the walls were lined with Sith war blades in racks. He walked over and began to inspect the blades, hoping that at least one still worked. It seemed doubtful, considering how long they had been sealed away without maintenance, but eventually he managed to find one and pulled it off the rack it occupied. However, this seemed to trigger what was either an anti-theft system or a long forgotten test of worthiness as the lids of the coffins exploded outwards, or just plain exploded, and battle droids of ancient design clambered out of them, around a dozen in number.

 _This is just not my day,_ Emron thought as he dived behind a fallen pillar as the droids opened up on him. _Hopefully those droids and their blasters are as poorly maintained as these blades were._ Thankfully for him, this seemed to be the case as most of the shots were flying wildly over his head and impacting the wall behind him. Only about a fifth of the shots were hitting the pillar, but the pillar wasn't holding up well even to the droids ancient blasters, having never been designed with being used as cover in mind. Needing to finish this before the droids managed to actually kill him, Emron pulled the blaster he had taken earlier off his hip and leaned up out of cover long enough to pop off three shots, destroying two droids and clipping a third.

 _Not bad, considering how little attention was paid to these things back on Ziost._ As if the galaxy was feeling particularly generous at the moment, the amount of shots hitting the pillar slackened considerably, Emron seemingly managed to take out the more accurate of the droids with his volley. _Time to finish this._

Activating his newly acquired war blade, he gripped the blaster in his other hand and launched himself over the pillar. This appeared to be the last thing the droids had expected and reacted slowly, just enough time to send the blaster flying forward, impacting the closest droid and knocking it off balance. Summoning the Force, Emron Pushed another two droids into the far wall, destroying them as he rushed the off balance droid, reaching it as it recovered just in time to be sliced in two.

 _Six down, six to go. If these were real opponents and not ancient, forgotten droids however, I'd be dead already. Oh, hello there._

Apparently one of the droids had suffered a blaster malfunction and had swapped it out for an imposing looking vibroblade that seemed to actually work, and was closing rapidly, just as three more droids were lining up shots, the other two trying to get around behind him. Thinking quickly, Emron ducked below the droid's horizontal swing, putting it between him and the three droids, who had opened fire, reducing their metallic comrade to smoldering metal for their troubles. Another Force Push sent the three flying, resulting in the same fates for them as the two droids from earlier. _Now where'd those last two get to?_

It turned out that the two droids had decided to replicate the same tactics as the other four, but while the droid with the blaster was laying down suppressive fire long enough for his melee companion to enter range with Emron, it was entirely unwilling to fire into the fray, instead waiting for Emron or the vibroblade droid to give it a large enough opening for it to make the kill shot, negating any idea of Emron repeating his dodge trick. _They're learning. Too little, too late however._

The vibroblade droid brought its blade straight down, bent on an in-depth study of Emron's internal organs. Before his innards could become his outtards, however, Emron brought his war blade up to block the strike, then proceeding to kick the droid in its rust-colored metallic torso, knocking it backwards somewhat. Seizing the opportunity, Emron flipped the blade over in his hand, turning it into an improvised javelin, which he proceeded to launch and impale the blaster-wielding droid with. Now weaponless, he turned back to the vibroblade droid and flung himself at it, taking both of them to the ground and knocking the weapon away.

 _I seem to have developed a penchant for throwing things – including myself - at my enemies,_ Emron thought he glared down at the droid's single blood red eye, which glared just as malevolently back at him. Calling upon the Force, Emron began to rain blows upon the droid, augmenting his fists. He heard a crack, and hoped that it was the sound of the droid's chassis breaking and not his hands. Then the droid raised its right arm and brought it across Emron's face in a sweeping motion, propelling him off the droid and sending him rolling across the floor. Dazed, Emron watched the droid raise itself to its feet and begin to quickly advance on him, red eye gleaming with what he swore was a predatory look, distorted, crackling noises issuing forth from its vocabulator. Glancing around, Emron saw the droid's vibroblade laying a short distance away, and began to try clear enough of the cobwebs that seemed to have taken up residence in his brain in order to summon the Force again.

Not fast enough, as the droid reached Emron, hauling him upwards by the throat and began throttling him. As his vision began to blacken, Emron reached out his hand and felt the grip of the vibroblade smack his palm, and proceeded to plunge the blade into the droid's gut, finally destroying it. Emron watched the gleam in the droid's cyclopean eye fade as its form collapsed, loosening its grip and allowing him to breathe freely once more.

Gasping, he hauled himself up by a nearby ledge and stumbled over to the war blade, still stuck in the droid. Pulling it out, he inspected it to see if it still worked. _Please do, I doubt there's another functioning blade down here, and I especially doubt that Tremel would accept an ancient vibroblade that hasn't been maintained in millennia._ Thankfully, the blade flickered back to life.

 _Now to get out of here,_ Emron thought as he gazed around. Although the stairway he had entered the armory still had an avalanche of fragmented masonry pouring down it, another stairway was tucked away in the far corner. Seeing no other way out, he jogged over to it. _Hopefully this works, I'd much rather not rot down here for all eternity._


	3. Pandemonium, Plans, and Prisoners

_Chapter 2: Pandemonium, Plans, and Prisoners_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

 _Kriff, I really hope this stairway is going somewhere._

Such were Emron's thoughts as he ascended from the armory. It felt like he had been climbing for hours in this Force-forsaken lightless hole, even though it had probably only been thirty minutes. He had already stopped twice to catch his breath. Who knew climbing stairs could be this exhausting?

 _This had better not prove to be some elaborate prank by some long dead Sith. Ajunta Pall's Force ghost is probably laughing its ass off right about now. Kriff, another flight Emron. You can do this._

He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away accumulated sweat and messy brown hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, partially blocking his view. Not like he could really see anything to begin with. _Really hope I'm not about to step into some giant hole in these stairs and fall. Breaking my neck after falling down twenty flights that I just scaled really would be the definition of insult to injury. Funny, I don't seem to recall coming all that far down on my way in._

His situation was becoming somewhat better though, he reflected as he made his way upwards. He thought he heard noise through the walls, meaning he was either nearing the surface and hearing the going ons of everyday Korriban life, or he had inadvertently kicked up more K'lor'slug activity. Now if only he could find an exit from this stairwell. _Wait…there!_

It hardly began to approach brightness, but Emron could make out a few more details of the stairs now. The dim light turned out to be the result of a fair sized hole in the wall. He peeked around the corner of the hole, hoping there wasn't anything particularly nasty waiting to turn him into a snack, or a smoking corpse. Thankfully his luck held, and he managed to make out a corridor that looked like it would lead to one of the main chambers. However, the hole was not at ground level, and Emron was having a hard time judging just how much a fall it would be in the darkness.

 _Oh well, beats going up any more stairs_ , he shrugged. He then proceeded to squeeze his frame through the gap, before dropping down a good five feet to the ground. Picking himself up, he turned and began walking towards what he hoped was a way out.

* * *

 _It's official, ancient Sith Lords had absolutely no sense of interior decorating. I swear, this could very well be the same corridor that I dropped into and I would have no way of telling. Nothing distinguishing to be seen. All these carvings of submissive slaves and Ajunta Pall showing off his Force abilities just everywhere. When I become important enough to warrant building a massive, mostly buried, half-maze half-death trap of a tomb, I want people to know where they are. Right before the death traps kill them that is._

Silence reigned in the ancient Tomb of Ajunta Pall, the only noise breaking up the oppressive quiet being the sound of Emron's footfalls. He was close to an exit, he could tell. The air was beginning to shift from dank, musty, and oppressive to dry, hot, and oppressive.

 _Loving the improvement already_ , he thought as he ducked underneath a partially collapsed pillar, entering a large antechamber. _Wonder if Tremel has given me up for dead yet. That'd be funny, I could walk into his office and claim I'm one of those – what did that crappy holoshow call them? Oh yeah, zombies._

As if the galaxy itself had decided that that was a very bad idea, Emron caught a few glimpses of actual light up ahead, peeking around a rather pretentious statue of a Sith holding a lightsaber high. Energized by this, he bolted across the room.

Big mistake.

Emron had made it about halfway across the room when the ground beneath him began shaking with such ferocity that he stumbled and nearly fell. As he desperately grabbed at a nearby carving to steady himself, all he could think was: _Damn but I hope that's not what I think it is._

It was exactly what he thought it was.

Bursting through the floor near the statue was the largest 'Slug Emron had seen so far, at least triple his size. Hell, the mouth on it alone was probably big enough to fit around the statue itself, never mind something as small and insignificant as Emron. He briefly recalled thinking earlier about being turned into a meal, but _this?_

 _I'll be lucky if its stomach even registers me. No, no time for that kind of thinking. Equipment check Emron. Let's see, one dinky ancient war blade. Yeah, this fight is not happening. Let's see. Can't just charge past it, these things are surprisingly fast, plus it'd simply follow me and eat me elsewhere. Gotta somehow seal that passageway off and hope it doesn't just burrow after me. But how? Ah fek me._

At that moment the monster 'Slug let loose with a massive shrill scream and came barreling after Emron. At the last moment he threw himself to the side, rolling behind a pillar as the beast desperately twisted and slipped as it tried to turn at full speed.

 _Ok, so, can't turn fast while you're running huh? I think I can work with that. Let's see if I can't get you to do the dirty work of killing you for me._

By this point, the 'Slug had managed to regain its footing and turn around to give Emron as close to a glare that an eyeless monstrosity could give.

 _Only got one shot at this or I'll be the K'lor'slug equivalent of Bantha poodoo. Come and get me big boy,_ Emron thought as he dashed towards the Sith statue. With a little aiming and a lot of luck, hopefully he could get the 'Slug to bring the statue down on the exit, collapsing it as he ran out and prevent it from following. It was an incredibly longshot plan, but he could think of no other reasonably realistic plans at the moment. If it failed, hopefully he'd have a better chance of losing it in another area of the tomb. Glancing over his shoulder to see where the monster was, he was satisfied to see it following its part of the plan, even if it was alarmingly close. Rapidly closing in on the statue, Emron quickly gathered the Force to him.

 _Not yet. Closer...closer…_

Just then the K'lor'slug reached the decision that it was close enough to turn Emron into an appetizer and lunged at him.

 _Now!_

Just before the freakishly long teeth on the 'Slug connected with what would have undoubtedly been some vital part of his anatomy, Emron launched himself up onto the top of the statue, then jumped off and rolled as he hit the ground, continuing his mad dash towards the exit.

The 'Slug was not as lucky, plowing head first into the statue as it desperately tried to come to a stop. The blow was too much for the two thousand year old statue, and it began to crumble and fall over. Except it didn't fall in the direction that Emron had hoped. Instead, it tipped and came smashing down onto the 'Slug. The monster only had time for one last confused and ferocious roar before its guts painted a colorful tapestry onto the stone floor.

Emron came to a stop next to the passageway, exhausted. Panting and trying not to vomit from his exertions, he turned around to survey his handiwork.

"Not quite what I planned, but I'll take it," he gasped out, before turning and making his way up the stairs and towards freedom.

* * *

The Sith Academy was not what he had been expecting.

After all the whispers about the Academy that passed between prospectives back on Ziost, Emron supposed he had built up a vision of what it would be like to actually set foot inside the fabled Academy. He had imagined it as a place of full of forbidden knowledge where those who sought to claim dominion over the Dark Side and the weak flocked to. A place where young acolytes were trained brutally and mercilessly in the ways of the Force; the failures left to rot where they fell. A place where the weak perished, the strong survived, and the truly ruthless thrived. And yet…

He had not been expecting the Academy to be this _sterile_ , for lack of a better term.

His boots clicked along polished stone as he made his way to Overseer Tremel's office, aside from the boots however there was almost no noise to be heard. In a way the silence reminded him of the tombs; it was certainly empty enough to be one.

He had overheard stories at the Ziost Institution that always had prominent Sith Lords and Dark Council members visiting the Korriban Academy for one reason or the other, usually to study holocrons of ancient knowledge, but other reasons ranged from standard information gathering on rivals to something truly bizarre like a Sith Lord trying to prove to the Council that there was a link between Sith and mutant tuk'atas that explained deep mysteries in the Force. Emron had brushed off the last one as the usual inane chatter between first year hopefuls. Surely no Sith would be insane enough to have an idea _that_ stupid, and the Dark Council would surely never approve of giving such a plan Imperial resources and recognition, right?

Yet now that he was here, the most that he had seen were a handful of terrified acolytes rushing back and forth, all of them occupied with one inane task or another. Emron knew that the real center of power in Imperial space was Dromund Kaas, with the Sith enclave inside the massive Imperial Citadel, but given the significance of Korriban in Sith mythos, he had expected at least some life here. But no, not even the libraries that he had passed had contained any life.

At least they had the whole dim and intimidating lighting thing worked out he supposed.

He turned around the corner to the Overseer's office, only to see two men in acolyte garb waiting in the corridor outside, leaning against the wall. Unsure as to whether or not these were men under Tremel's command or just acolytes who had decided to take a break in that particular spot, Emron pushed onward towards the office. That was when the two acolytes moved to intercept him.

Emron came to a halt and scrutinized the two of them as they approached. The one on the left was pretty much the stereotypical definition of a brute: large, muscular, tall, bald, and looked completely confident in his assessment of his own strength. The one on the right, however, was the one who struck him as the dangerous one. He was about two-thirds the size of Brute, with a face crisscrossed with scars, a smug sneer plastered on his face, and a war blade much like Emron's strapped across his back. His eyes shone with a vicious cunning that had undoubtedly served him well so far. Overall he reminded Emron of a rat. A depraved, calculating rat that Emron would enjoy killing very much when the opportunity arose.

Emron could see Ratface giving him the fisheye as he stopped in front of him, Brute standing close to his right shoulder and looking like he would much rather be stomping Emron's face in until there was nothing left but a bloody smear staining the cold gray stone floor. _You're welcome to try, fool._

Seconds passed and neither side budged. When around a minute and a half had lapsed and neither of the two had still done not much more than glower and stare at him, Emron cleared his throat. "Is there something you want, or do you just enjoy standing in other people's way?" he asked.

Brute merely scowled even harder at him, if that was even possible, while Ratface proceeded to reapply his grin. "So you're Overseer Tremel's latest pet are you? How strange that we should run into each other. Name's Vemrin, your better."

 _Vemrin, huh? What an unfortunate name that is. Wonder what his issue is. Aside from the name, I'd be pretty peeved about that myself. I wonder how many people slip and call him Vermin. Fits his looks quite nicely actually._

"It's a shame really, you look like you might have been fun to slaughter had Tremel brought you here a few months ago. Now? Maybe I'll just let Dolgis here," Vemrin gestured to Brute, "have some fun when the time comes to dispose of you. You certainly aren't worth _my_ time."

"So Ver – err, _Vemrin_ and Dolgis. How utterly charmed. Curious how you know I'm here when I only just arrived a few hours ago, and spent most of that time inside a tomb," Emron said. Internally he cursed himself. _Fek, I almost slipped there. Gotta stop thinking those thoughts. Guess I answered my earlier thought._

Vemrin's eyes narrowed slightly. Clearly he'd caught the slip and was not amused at all. _Hit a nerve there did I?_

"One doesn't become the best acolyte around without having underlings who'll do whatever you say," he ground out. "Including keeping an eye out for the arrival of Tremel's worst kept secret."

 _I'm really going to have to have a word with the Overseer about who he has working for him. Between that instructor on Ziost and now this, two planets seem to know what I'm here for before I'm aware of what I'm here for._ The details were spotty at best, information coming from overheard whispers and glimpses at pieces of flimsi regarding his transportation detail, but from what Emron had guessed he was simply an acolyte chosen by some bigshot Overseer for the purposes of some special task on Korriban. Clearly he was wrapped up in something much bigger than he had initially figured. _Then again, "special task" is such an ambiguous term in the Sith Empire. I should have guessed this might have been the case. Oh, he's still running his jaw. What was he saying?_

"…and that, worm, is why you will never take my place of glory. I _will_ become Baras' apprentice, and you will become nothing more than food for the beasts. Let's go Dolgis," he practically snarled.

"It'd be a lot easier just to kill him now Vemrin," Dolgis practically whined. Clearly he had been hoping to indulge in some good old fashioned murder.

"No, we both know the rules of the Academy, no unsanctioned killing. However, there's nothing preventing this scum from suffering an _accident_ the next time he enters the tombs." If the venom in Vemrin's tone became any greater, Emron was sure he would start giving Hutta a run for its money in toxicity levels.

As the two made their way past Emron, Dolgis slowed down and bumped into his shoulder. Bending over slightly, Dolgis hissed into his ear, "You may be new here, but Vemrin is the alpha monster here. Remember that, _filth._ "

And like that, they were gone. Emron could not wait for the opportunity to gut both of them like fish.

Turning back, he set his shoulders and stalked into Tremel's office. He needed answers.

* * *

"Ah, acolyte, you have finally arrived," came the clipped tones of Overseer Tremel. "I heard voices, including yours, outside my office just now." His voice slipped dangerous low, "I trust you were not wasting my time with inane gossip?"

"Actually Overseer," Emron stated as he walked into the small office, "I just had the most interesting chat with a certain individual that you apparently brought me here to replace, or something along those lines. I confess to having tuned out most of what he said."

He glanced around, surprised at the small size and bareness of the room he had just entered. Aside from the obligatory desk and chair, all that decorated the room was a weapon rack that held a number of lightsabers, and a torture rack. _Interesting, undoubtedly there for the intimidation effect. Be more effective if it actually looked used however._ Focusing back on Tremel, he glanced at the young woman standing next to him. If she paid him any mind, she certainly did not show it.

"So, Vemrin found you, did he? Blast, we will have to speed up your training if he already knows you are here," Tremel growled, clenching his fists. "I had hoped for more time, but we will simply have to make do with what we have."

"Forgive me for asking, but why exactly _did_ you bring me here?"

"Ah, yes, my apologies for not making telling you earlier, but I was eager to have you get started. But first, introductions. Acolyte, this is my daughter, Eskella," he said, nodding to the woman.

"Acolyte," she said in a tone that clearly said, _"Don't even think of making small talk, or I will cut you down where you stand, rules be damned,"_ before promptly ignoring him once more.

For his part, Emron gave her a small nod before turning his attention back to Tremel. He doubted he would be seeing her at all, especially given how much Tremel kept talking about his training.

"Eskella, please leave us," Tremel said, his tone turning the request into a demand.

"But Father, I —"

"Now, Eskella." If it was possible to make one's voice become harder than durasteel without changing one's tone in the slightest, then Tremel was a master at it. It left Emron in a state of awe.

Casting a look of disgust at Emron, she whirled around on her heels and stormed out the door.

Tremel heaved a sigh when she was gone. "Apologies acolyte, she can be incredibly stubborn at times, and we hardly have any time to see each other these days."

Emron nodded and said, "It's fine Overseer, I understand. Family and all that." _Actually I haven't the slightest idea, but you're supposed to say these kinds of things, right?_

"Thank you acolyte, now, back to your question. Your training here will be unorthodox, to put it mildly. While most acolytes come to the Academy for advanced saber and Force training, you have already greatly surpassed your peers in those areas. No, I brought you here specially with one specific task in mind. The preservation of the ways of the Sith."

 _Wait, what?_ Emron thought confusedly. "Could you explain that to me Overseer? That seems to be a fairly broad aim."

"Of course. There is a rot that is beginning to eat its way through the foundations of the Sith order of hierarchy. Once, the old families who have been around since the founding of our great Empire once presided at the top of the Order as was proper. Now, disgusting vagabonds and slaves threaten to overthrow this natural system. You've already met the prime example of this trend here on Korriban."

Emron's eyes widened slightly, "Vemrin."

"Precisely. Vemrin stands at the threshold of becoming the apprentice of Darth Baras, an extremely powerful Sith Lord who is himself an apprentice to a Dark Council member. Vemrin himself is no slouch when it comes to untapped power, and stands a good chance of becoming a Sith Lord himself one day, maybe even a Darth if he survived long enough. The precedent such acts would set…"

"I think I understand," Emron said, nodding slowly, even though internally he was puzzled. _Is it not the Sith way for those with ambition and the power to back it up to seize their destiny, no matter who they are?_

"It is already bad enough that Lord Zash took a slave to be her apprentice a while back, instead of a well-bred Pureblood, but she already had a widespread reputation for eccentricity. It was easy to dismiss her decision as another one of her oddities. But if a widely respected Darth like Baras takes a _commoner_ ," the disgust practically oozed in Tremel's voice as he said the word, "then it will become acceptable all over the Empire. We _cannot_ allow this to happen acolyte. You must become stronger than Vemrin, and then I will present you to Baras myself. Then he will take you to be his apprentice instead. Only this will allow those who deserve to rule to continue doing so."

"Of course Overseer," Emron said neutrally. He did not agree, as such a policy would do nothing but weaken the Empire by denying it potentially powerful Force users, but if this was what he had to do for advancement, then he would humor Tremel long enough to impress Baras.

"Good, now there is something we need to go over before I send you back out into the tombs. Your files reported judgment inconsistent with Sith philosophy. I confess to being curious as to just what these comments refer to. Rather than explaining to me, however, you will demonstrate."

"Overseer?" Emron asked, making sure to keep any and all signs of nervousness out of his voice. _"Judgment inconsistent with Sith philosophy" may just be code speak for "Didn't brutally slaughter anyone who so much as looked at him," but it's still enough to get myself killed. Kriff! Exercising restraint and common sense shouldn't be a death sentence._

"The instructors at the Ziost Institution have a reputation for being particularly merciless, and expect prospectives to be ready and willing to kill should the mood arise, so I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt when it comes to that statement. Darth Baras, on the other hand, will not. He will expect you to be pitiless, to kill whenever he gives the word, to utterly destroy both the enemies of the Empire and his rivals. However, he will also expect you to be able to think for yourself and be able to make calls that you feel best, so long as they do not interfere with his plans. If you cannot do this, then you have already failed," Tremel intoned. "To prepare you for this, I have had a number of prisoners shipped in from off world specifically for your next task. Go to the cells and speak to the jailor, Knash. Judge these prisoners, and I will see for myself if whether or not attaching my hopes to you was a mistake."

"Yes, Overseer, I will not fail." With that statement, Emron turned and left, mind racing at the thought of his new task, and at just what sort of situation he had found himself in.

* * *

 _So, the Overseer is an elitist snob who will do anything to maintain a failing status quo, this Darth Baras sounds like someone who eats acolytes for breakfast and then demands seconds, and if I'm to survive any of this I'm going to need an unholy amount of luck and no small amount of skill at playing people. Fekking great. Never thought I'd miss Ziost._

Emron was not a happy acolyte at the moment, but then, no one thought to care about how acolytes felt, so he continued on his way to the cells.

 _Hopefully I don't blow this. How embarrassing would that be? To make it this far and survive the Tomb only to be cut in half over what amounts to an elaborate mind game. My best bet is that these are fairly cut and dry cases._

As he entered the cells, he was confronted with the strange sight of a Twi'lek woman making bird noises before being electrocuted by a shock collar.

So much for the hope of something simple to deal with.

 _Clearly, the galaxy hates me._

 ** _A/N: Wow, so this story hit over 100 views by the time I finished up this chapter, thank you everyone who took the time to read this._**


	4. Punch Clock Villain

_Chapter 3: Punch Clock Villain_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

 _I remember when I was younger, how I thought that being a Sith would be glorious, fun even. I thought I would be flying around the galaxy fighting the enemies of the Emperor, slaying those who dared to oppose his will. That I would become so powerful that none would dare oppose me. If I could go back and slap some sense into that idealistic little snot…_

Emron snorted quietly, reminding himself that while he could and would ascend to those heights someday, he still had to deal with inconveniences and worms who thought well of themselves. Worms who asked way too many questions for their own good.

Case in point.

"So you're the new acolyte that Overseer Tremel had me bring all these prisoners in all special like for, eh?" asked the jailor, Knash. "Very unusual, if you don't mind me saying. He got some sort of secret plan or something for you?"

 _While Tremel undoubtedly expected blood pooling on this floor by the time this trial is over, I somehow feel that he didn't want that blood to be yours. But oh it's so very tempting right now._

"Allow me to pose a hypothetical question to you jailor," Emron asked, barely keeping himself from grinding the question out, "If the plan was secret, what makes you think I'd tell you in the first place?"

"Uh…"

 _Cretin, tend to your duties and keep your mouth shut,_ was what Emron wanted to say, but instead he stuck to, "Exactly, now, let's begin the task that I was sent here to do instead of asking useless questions, shall we?"

"Right, sorry my Lord," the jailor said, turning back to a trio of cages that were lined up against the far wall. "As I mentioned, the Overseer brought these pieces of filth from off world for you to judge. Have them killed, or let loose, or force them to dance naked for all the visiting Darths, I don't care. I'm supposed to follow your lead in this, so what you say goes. Let's start with the first one," turning around, he led Emron over to the human woman in the far left cage.

The woman glanced up at Emron and the jailor as the pair approached, watching them with hard blue eyes. _Killers eyes,_ thought Emron.

"This one attempted to murder an Imperial spy in the Yavin system, the man barely escaped from what I heard. We've tortured her extensively, and she continues to deny any connection to the Republic."

"Get it through your damn heads," the woman yelled, "I was hired anonymously, supplied anonymously, and paid anonymously! I have no idea who hired me and why I was hired, you don't ask those sorts of questions!"

"Point is, she doesn't deny the charges," Knash continued, clearly used to such outbursts from her by this point, "She's clearly guilty, so may I suggest some more torture before an execution?" he finished, his eyes taking on a hopeful gleam.

"No, you may not. You yourself took the liberty of reminding me that I decide these prisoners' fates," Emron said, mildly disturbed. _A little torture now and then to obtain information? Fine. This man, however, would probably torture his own mother for entertainment. Sick._

Kneeling down in front of the cage so that he was eyelevel with the woman, he said, "The assassination. Tell me about it. What was your chosen method?"

"Go to whatever place it is you Sith call hell," she hissed.

Emron gave her his best Sith glare and was reward by a brief flash of fear in her eyes. "I see," he simply stated. "Jailor, I've reached my decision."

"And what would that be my Lord?" Knash asked, stepping forward.

"Call for some guards, get her cleaned up, and then send her to Imperial Intelligence. They will undoubtedly be able to employ her very effectively."

"What?" clearly, a decision he had not been expecting.

" _What?_ " clearly, a decision _she_ had not been expecting.

"My Lord, I must question this decision, she attempted to kill an Imp-" Knash cut off gasping as Emron brought his left hand up.

"I seem to recall you saying that the decisions were mine to make, and that all you had to do was carry them out. I'm sure you do as well. So I must ask as to why you continue to question my decisions, jailor?"

"I…Sorry…" Knash managed to wheeze out.

"Do not question me again Knash. Your position on the totem pole in the Academy is a rather low one, and there are plenty of other sadistically eager individuals here who could just as easily take your position."

Knash was too busy desperately gulping air while lying on the floor where Emron had dropped him to answer properly, but he did manage a few energetic nods of his head.

"Good, now, show me the next prisoner if you would." _Unnecessarily harsh Emron, but then again, you didn't split his skull open like an overripe muja fruit, no matter how much you wanted to. So there's something of a silver lining there. Not that he realizes of course. Better hope I don't have to come back here._

Still gasping, Knash pushed himself up off the floor and unsteadily made his way to the second cage. A faint call of not working for free drifted from the woman's cage, but neither man paid it any attention. It was more an attempt by the woman to reassure herself with defiance after the show of power she had just seen. Arriving at the second cage, Emron could see that inside it cowered an old man with a number of cybernetic implants, replacements for extremities undoubtedly lost over years of mortal combat.

"This pile of waste is named Devotek," Knash said, valiantly managing to stifle a cough. _Devotek, where have I heard that name before?_ "He was some top dog Sith champion who fought in the Great War, until he became soft afterwards. Lost over a thousand men in a raid on Hoth last year and then a whole bunch of Sith politics happened. Apparently they couldn't quite decide what to do with him. Looks like you'll have to decide for them."

"Thank you jailor," Emron said, staring at the old Sith. _So that's where. One of the heroes of the Sack of Coruscant lying at my feet. How far the mighty have fallen._

"Please," Devotek begged, "I've lost everything, but at least allow me to die with some dignity. With a blade in my hands."

Emron crossed his arms over his chest and looked at him, amused. "Very well, I'll grant you your dying wish. Jailor, let this man out and give him a training blade. Warriors should die on their feet."

Thankfully Knash complied without a sound this time, and came running with a training saber in his like all the tuk'atas on Korriban were after him. _It never ceases to amaze me just how quickly an application of fear changes a man's attitude towards life. It also never ceases to amaze what happens when one applies too_ much _fear._

By the time Emron had finished his thought, Knash had the cage opened and the blade in Devotek's hands. Watching him step back to observe the impending fight between the two Sith, Emron swore that the man would be placing bets if such an action did not guarantee an instantaneous gutting by the winner. And if the man actually had any friends to bet with.

Returning his attention back to Devotek, Emron saw that the man had powered up his saber, and was waiting for him to do the same with his war blade. Pulling the weapon off his back, Emron thumbed the activation button and dropped into a ready pose. _Time to see if you can still live up to that reputation Devotek. What did they call you? "The Senator Slaughterer," or something equally ridiculous._

Personally Emron doubted that the old Sith would last longer than a minute, if even that. The man had been in captivity for well over a year, and Sith captivity was not known for its gentleness and punctual meal service. Those factors, combined with the man's age and what had undoubtedly been a lot of torture at the hands of the inquisitors, would slow the man down, fatally so. Still, it never paid to underestimate one's foes.

Faster than Devotek could blink, Emron launched himself at his enemy, nearly taking Devotek's head off in one strike. Rebounding off his opponent's cage, he landed near Knash's spot, causing the jailor to scramble backwards in an attempt to stay out of the fight. Devotek charged him as he landed, hoping to catch his foe off-guard, but was quickly disappointed as Emron brought his blade up to block his strike, the action leaving Devotek completely open.

 _I knew this would be easy, but I didn't expect you to deliberately let me just kill you Devotek,_ Emron thought as he kicked Devotek in the chest with a Force-enhanced boot, sending the man stumbling back as a loud cracking sound filled the air. _That sounded like two or three ribs. Internal bleeding, maybe even a punctured lung. Time to finish this._

Devotek brought his saber back up in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but Emron was already upon him, raining down a hail of blows. As Devotek's already feeble defense grew progressive weaker, Emron saw the opportunity, and took it. Bringing his war saber down one last time, he took off Devotek's right arm at the elbow, causing the man to howl in pain and a fountain of blood to erupt. Devotek was so busy screaming in pain that he almost did not register the blade being plunged into his heart a moment later.

 _Odd, I know losing limbs is supposed to hurt and all, but the man sounded like a nerf that had just been gutted alive. Might be this blade, I've heard the ancient Sith did love to prolong the pain as much as possible,_ Emron thought panting as his foe's lifeless body crumpled in front of him. Turning around, he beckoned Knash forward.

"That was exciting to watch my Lord, even if the results were exactly what I thought they would be, if you don't mind my saying," the jailor said with a tone of awe in his voice.

"Just introduce me to the next prisoner, and make sure you clean up this mess after we're done," Emron said, nudging Devotek's corpse with his boot. _How the mighty have fallen indeed._

"Of course my Lord," came Knash's reply as the man stepped over Devotek's cooling body and walked towards the third cage, Emron following. Nearing it, Emron could see that it contained a Neimoidian with pale-red skin. He could also see that his duel with the former Sith champion had left a mark on the Neimoidian's clothing. And on the floor. _Disgusting. I don't envy whoever has to clean up around here._

"This alien slime is named Brehg. Or maybe it was Brahg. Their names all sound the same to me. He's been accused of supplying Republic secret agents with forged documents, allowing them to infiltrate and steal numerous highly classified plans and codes," Knash said, glaring down at the Neimoidian was a wrinkled nose.

"P-p-please! I'm innocent!" the alien managed to stutter out. "It was all a setup, I swear!"

"Where have I heard that line before?" muttered Emron.

"It's true, I swear!" The alien was practically convulsing with fear at this point, having backed up so far that if he went any further he would be on the ceiling of his cage. _Oh please, you gigantic kriffing wuss. You act like I used anything beyond simple Institution moves on Knash and Devotek. It's not like I know how to use Force Lightning to charge that conveniently metal cage you've got a death grip on. Now there's a thought…_

"Well then," Emron said, "If you're so innocent as you claim, surely you have nothing to fear, no?" He proceeded to give the alien a grin loaded with all the charm he could muster.

It was not a lot of charm, and mostly just resulted in the alien making another contribution to the pool that was dribbling down his leg. _Blasted Sith reputation, sometimes it's helpful like it's afraid of going out of style, then there's other times like this._

"What records our slicers have pulled up on him say he's done some time in Republic prisons for forgery in the past, but the evidence overall _is_ fairly circumstantial." How Knash managed to say that without vomiting, or cutting his tongue out afterwards, Emron never figured out, given how disgusted the jailor looked after admitting that.

"Once a jailbird, always a jailbird huh? Well, in that case, I think I've reached my decision regarding this one," Emron said, turning back to Brehg. Or at least he thought it was Brehg. _Fekking idiot jailer is starting affect my thinking, gotta get out of here before I start talking like him too._ It seemed that the Neimoidian had passed out from all the self-induced terror.

"Wake him up," Emron ordered Knash. "I don't want him asleep when he hears his fate."

"With pleasure, my Lord," Knash said with a sadistic smile, before pulling out what looked like a shock baton and advancing on the cage. From what little he had seen of the man already, Emron figured the thing was set to put out a ludicrous number of volts.

"Try not to fry anything too important, I much prefer dealing with non-vegetables Knash."

"Oh, nothing he won't recover from in a coupla days," Knash replied with a little too much glee in his tone for Emron's liking.

If the baton had required it to be plugged into a nearby power socket, Emron was sure that the entire Academy would have dimmed momentarily due to the massive power drain. _Well, dimmed more than usual._ It did the trick however, waking up the Neimoidian and launching him into the air.

"Now now," Emron said with a scolding tone, "Just how am I supposed to sentence you if you insist on unconscious? It's not even all that hard of one either."

"W-what are you going to do to me?" Brehg stammered out, looking more hopeful than he had before.

"It's simple, really. If someone like Knash can admit to you being most likely innocent, then I'll call you innocent."

"Really?" the alien asked incredulously, seemingly unable to believe what it was hearing at the moment.

 _Wait, do Neimoidians even have ears? How do they hear? Focus!_ "Of course, but I can't just let you go now can I? What would stop you from simply returning to the Republic and offering to tell them all that you saw here, in exchange for having your criminal history erased?" Emron watched as the alien's face went from hopeful, to distraught, to absolutely crushed in a heartbeat.

"I…"

"Exactly, you can't promise you wouldn't because that's exactly what you would do, you cowardly scum. So Jailor Knash here is going to introduce you to your new best friends after I leave. They're called Shovel and Rags. You'll get along with them fantastically when you're helping all the other slaves excavate tombs," Emron said, sneering, before turning back to Knash, who had resumed his place behind him.

"Is that all of them? I noticed a Twi'lek when I walked in."

"That's all of the ones the Overseer had brought in. Not sure about the Twi'lek myself though. They caught her in one of the really old tombs and brought her here. Something about being Darth Baras' personal prisoner," Knash scowled at that. _Probably because he doesn't get to torture someone to his heart's content, has to limit himself instead._

"Very well then, I'll take my leave then. Until next time, jailor."

"My Lord."

With that, Emron stalked out the exit, back to Tremel's office.

* * *

 _Ok, it's done and over with. I can take off the whole angry, insane, vindictive Sith mask now. Hopefully Tremel is pleased with my decisions, I'd hate to muck things up this early in my trials due to insufficient application of Force Choke. Or too much Force Choke as the case may be._

 _Hopefully I don't have to head back to the cells. Knash was rubbing his windpipe and giving me a most peculiar look on my way out._

Turning the corner into Tremel's office, he saw another acolyte handing what looked to be a stack of datapads over to the Overseer. Taking a moment to compose himself, he walked inside just in time to hear the end of the conversation.

"…this is everything?" Tremel was asking.

"Everything that Lord Renning was able to find out regarding the plans for Vemrin's remaining trials, my Lord," the acolyte said, not quite managing to keep a brave face at the resulting scowl that blossomed on Tremel's face.

"It will have to do, I suppose, now get out of my sight and back to the beast pens before I gut you for this mockery of my request."

The acolyte turned and practically ran out of the room, almost plowing into Emron in the process. Turning back after watching the display, Emron commented, "Impressive work, Overseer."

"What I would give for back when we had acolytes with any spine," Tremel muttered, before straightening and standing up.

"So, you've returned from the cells. Knash already holocommed me and informed me of the basics of your decisions. I, however, want more than just the basics, so you will now explain to me why you chose what you did. First off, the woman, Solentz, you chose to have her released and sent to Imperial Intelligence, why was that?"

"The Yavin system is currently one of the most unofficially contested spots in the galaxy at the moment, what with all the Sith relics on the fourth moon. As such, Intelligence would only deploy their best to the system, and I figured that if she managed to almost kill one of our best, then we could definitely use someone of her caliber," Emron answered. It was the truth, somewhat. He had mostly sent the woman to Intelligence figuring that if anyone could make her reveal the details of her mission, it would be the Empire's top spooks. And if they could make some use out of her at the same time, good for them.

"That was excellent thinking acolyte. Never discard tools that can still be used, especially tools that can be turned against their former owners. This is one of the greatest lessons you will need to remember when you become Baras' apprentice," Tremel said approvingly. "Now, the second prisoner. Devotek. You granted his wish and gave him a trial by arms. Why?"

"It was an opportunity to test and further hone my skills, Overseer. If it allowed one of the Empire's heroes to die with at least some dignity, then it was just an added bonus."

"That man stopped being a hero well over a year ago. What was left was nothing worth any respectable Imperial's time. Especially not your time," Tremel said, eyes narrowing as he glared at Emron. "We do not have time for you to waste indulging your noble ideals, nor should you have any ideals in the first place. They are a weakness that others will ruthlessly exploit, including Baras himself. Now, the last one, the alien. You let him go."

"I made him a slave, that hardly counts as letting someone _go._ The man was obviously innocent given how he maintained his story despite the impressively sized lake that was accumulating on the floor, and it was a waste to keep him in the cells when he could be put to work for the Empire's glory," Emron defended himself. It was true, the man was innocent; a simple mind probe while the Neimoidian was passed out had proved it. Undoubtedly his torturers knew it as well and had simply kept him around for some fun. _Typical._

"Indeed, his innocence was hardly in doubt, nor was I judging your decision to enslave him. As I said earlier, do not waste tools. However, you are missing the point." At this point Tremel began to pace up and down the length of his office, maintaining eye contact with Emron the entire time. "The expectation was that you would simply kill the fool and be done with him. Do you think Baras will be pleased in the slightest if you suddenly began to let his enemies just walk away because you thought they would be more useful alive? When you are expected to kill, you will kill. That is the Sith way, and the Sith way is the only way you will become powerful to seize your destiny," he finished, brown eyes as hard as durasteel.

"Yes Overseer, I understand completely," Emron replied dutifully. _I understand that you expect me to slaughter anyone and everyone if they so much as think about looking at me. I understand that you expect me to throw away advantages in favor of something as ambiguous as "the Sith way." Yes, allow me to alienate anyone who could potentially be an ally or a pawn and confirm to the masses that the Sith really are the monsters they've heard so much about and that they should indeed try to actively try to get rid of us. Not that we aren't monsters, but we should at least be discreet monsters. Like some sort of upper class social gossip club. It's a damn good thing one of the first things they beat into us on Ziost was controlling our tongues or I'd be so dead right now._

"Now," Tremel said crisply, reverting to his all business attitude, "For your next trial. You will return to the Valley of the Dark Lords and enter the Tomb of Marka Ragnos. Inside you will find a massive sithspawn terentatek that the Dark Lord was rumored to have kept as a pet. You will slay this beast of Marka Ragnos and return to me. By doing so you will prove that you are powerful enough to become Baras' apprentice. Now go, and make haste. Events are rapidly coming to a head."

"Of course Overseer," Emron said, bowing slightly before turning around and walking out the door.


	5. Into Darkness Descending

_Chapter 4: Into Darkness Descending_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

The Valley of the Dark Lords was not a place even the most experienced and powerful Sith Lords tred lightly in. Ignoring the hostile wildlife and renegade bands of escaped slaves and traitorous Imperial soldiers, the Valley was host to many long-lost secrets and spirits, which, if one were to glance quickly enough to the shadows that the many towering tombs and statues cast, could be seen peeking out at trespassers with a primeval hunger that could never be satiated, no matter how many unfortunate souls were claimed. Bands of acolytes routinely delved into these same tombs, hoping to prove themselves by claiming an ancient holocron or teachings inscribed into the walls in the innermost sanctums. Unsurprisingly, said bands routinely failed to exit the tombs, the only remainders of them being, if one focused long and hard enough, faint echoes of screams drifting along on the occasional breeze.

Such cheerful thoughts occupied Emron's mind as he tromped forwards toward the Tomb of Marka Ragnos, his feet kicking up miniature clouds of rust-red dust as he stepped over the bleached skeleton of what had once most likely been another acolyte, its arms stretched outward, as if the being had been beseeching Korriban's dry and uncaring heavens in its last moments. He had taken a freight elevator down into the Valley along with a squad of Imperial soldiers who had been tasked with escorting a shipment of excavation tools down to the latest archaeological expedition. Emron had quickly outpaced the group, partly due to the slow speed afforded by the repulsorlift cargo carriers, but mostly due to his desire not to be around when disaster inevitably struck the convoy. Judging by the sounds of blaster fire and screams that came echoing along around fifteen minutes later, he had made the correct decision. _Poor saps. At least the suns haven't set yet. Whatever got them at least killed them, the things that supposedly come out after dark down here wouldn't have been even a tenth as kind as that…_

Emron shivered and increased his pace. He had no desire to be down here during the night. The real monsters on Korriban might be the Sith, but down in the Valley, where the dead held court and stretched forth their influence towards the living, the ravenous dark consumed all who had the temerity to set foot in their domain. If he failed to complete his task with adequate swiftness, he faced the prospect of having to choose between daring the Valley and setting up camp inside the Tomb. Neither option was particularly desirable.

 _I've always been told that I have an air of destiny about me. Hopefully that destiny isn't to end up a gibbering cannibalistic lunatic squatting in some ancient Lord's tomb. Even dying painfully and alone would be preferable to that._

Emron shook his head. Ragnos' Tomb was not far ahead. _Time to get my game face on, as the Corellian saying goes._ He quickly checked the equipment he had brought with him, ensuring that everything was still where he had placed it. The last thing he wanted to end up doing was reach into his pocket for the health kit and accidently trigger one of the thermal detonators he had surreptitiously "borrowed" from a number of troopers who had found themselves suddenly needing to investigate nearby rock formations for any fugitive slaves.

 _Force Suggestion. More subtle than Force Persuade, which is about as subtle as a lightsaber to the face at times. Probably why so few Sith bother to learn it. It certainly wasn't part of the standard curriculum on Ziost. Now that I think about it, not many Force powers were. Definitely something to rectify when I get the time._

Shrugging, Emron turned left around the base of a massive statue portraying one of the original Sith species bent at the waist in submission. Such monuments were usually only found in the vicinity of the most ancient of the Sith tombs, as Purebloods, despite being the namesake of the Order, had quickly been eclipsed by humans in importance in the pre-Great Hyperspace War Sith Empire.

Emron knew that a trial of this sort was highly unusual. Most acolytes were given relatively simple tasks like retrieving ancient Sith artifacts while staying just sane enough to report back afterwards. Being ordered to kill a millennia old Sithspawn monster was normally a sign that one had managed to anger one's Overseer in a rather spectacular fashion. While Emron doubted that Tremel had it out for him just yet, considering how much the man went on and on about him being the "destiny of the Sith" and all that, the fact remained that he was heading into the tomb of one of the most powerful Sith to have ever existed in order to destroy what essentially amounted to said Lord's pet Akk dog.

 _After phrasing it like that, I take it back. Tremel may indeed have it out for me somewhat. Hopefully there won't be any K'lor'slugs this time. Hate those Force forsaken things. Then again, given how my luck has been since coming to this planet, I wouldn't bet on it._

Coming to a stop, Emron looked up at the massive tomb that towered over him, the sheer size of it blotting out the sunlight. Built into the rock face of the Valley, unlike the Tomb of Ajunta Pall, the Tomb of Marka Ragnos was built to commemorate not just a powerful Sith Lord, but also one of the most, if not _the_ most successful rulers of the Sith Empire. As such, even though its past glory had long since faded away, been stolen, or defaced, it still remained an impressive reminder of the dominance of the Sith Order.

 _Rumor has it that this thing was once sheathed in pure gold. And that said gold didn't even last ten years before people started stealing it as fast as they could, Sith Lords and commoners alike._

Still, if the rumor had any truth behind it, it was a startling example of just how successful the Sith Empire had once been, before it's downfall at the hands of the Republic and subsequent exile to Dromund Kaas.

 _But for those days to exist once more. And maybe, just maybe, I'll see those days myself. But if I want to do that, I'll have to get in there and complete this trial. Now, just how do I go about that task without being torn to shreds after setting one foot inside?_

There were people already here. Emron could feel their presences in the Force, twisting, writhing; practically _boiling_ with the Dark Side. _Definitely insane, unsurprising given where they are._ There were around twenty or so presences, none of them particularly deep inside the tomb. Whether or not their positioning was a good thing was a matter open to debate.

 _On the one hand, it will make eliminating them easier if they're all in one area. On the other hand their reluctance to go deeper probably means there's plenty of nasty creatures between me and the Beast. Not a very big fan of that possibility._

Frowning, Emron slipped behind another statue and began to observe the scene before him. Around half a dozen men and women in acolyte garb stood watch at the entrance way, armed with a smattering of vibroblades, blasters, and old fashioned work tools. He almost laughed at the sight of one scrawny looking man trying and failing to look ferocious while holding an oversized shovel. Still, while their armament was laughable, six on one was rather unfavorable odds given how all he had was a war blade of his own, Sith origin or not. Quickly fishing around in the pouch slung over his left shoulder, Emron pulled out two thermal detonators.

 _So, can't hit these guys with anything really destructive, probably end up collapsing the whole tomb entrance if I do. Plus six gibbering failures are definitely not worth two dets. Gotta lure more of them out and away. But how to do so?_ He pondered this, before his eyes fell upon what looked like a crude early warning alarm system. The contraption itself seemed like it had been constructed with some unholy combination of scrap metal, scavenged electrical systems, and happy thoughts. Whoever had designed it undoubtedly thought highly of themselves, but Emron was surprised it did not fall apart upon being the recipient of his arched eyebrow. Grimacing, he stepped over the painfully obvious tripwire and snuck his way over to the device, quickly activating the timer on his first detonator and setting it for three minutes, burying it next to the system before proceeding somewhat further and burying the second one in the red dust and rubble that littered the ground, that one also set to three minutes. Making his way back to the device, he peeked back at the entranceway. _If they somehow didn't see someone sneaking around in the open thirty feet from them, then they truly deserve what's about to happen to them._ Sure enough, the guards still stood there, seemingly looking everywhere but the area that Emron was currently crouched in. _Yep, definitely deserve this._

Turning back, he slunk back around the statue, tripping the wire as he did so. He covered his ears just in time for a Force-damned head splitting _shriek_ to begin wailing from the device. Kriff, if he had known it was going to be this painfully loud he would have just tossed the dets, consequences be damned. Peeking around the corner of the statue, he looked out just in time to see acolytes swarm out of the tomb. As he had guessed, there was around twenty of them, mostly armed with vibroblades and various other implements that had probably been used originally for excavation purposes. Only six of them had actual blasters, and none of them were rifles. _Thank the Force for small mercies. Catch enough of them in the blasts and this should be the easiest thing that I've done all day. Now just to lure them in. Two minutes until that first one goes off._

Looking around, his eyes settled upon another statue just past the system. Provided that the acolytes did not just charge it, they would be in a perfect position once the first detonator blew. Reaching out with the Force, he planted the idea inside their minds that maybe, just maybe, the acolytes had seen something moving behind the base of that statue over there and perhaps they should go investigate. As the mob began to move towards the trap, Emron reached behind him and pulled the war blade off his back, grasping it firmly in his right hand. He refrained from activating it though, no need for the red glow that the blade let off giving away his actual position.

Closer and closer the group of acolytes unwittingly inched towards the first detonator. _Ten, nine…_ Emron huddled closer to the ground and willed them to not spot him at this point, fingers unconsciously gripping the war blade so tightly that the hilt creaked a tiny bit. _Five, four…_ The vanguard of the group had just entered the blast radius, and were attempting to peer around the base of the statue without getting too close. Crazy they may have been, but they still managed to maintain something of a sense of proper caution. _Two, one, now!_

Then the thermal detonator exploded, killing seven of the acolytes and throwing up a geyser of red dirt, shrapnel, blood, and severed limbs. As the macabre shower rained down on the shocked survivors, they stumbled back in reflex. Right into the second detonator's blast range. It too exploded, catching the rear of the group in a hailstorm of shards of masonry and metal, gutting, dismembering, and in one unlucky man's case, beheading more acolytes.

Bursting from his hiding spot, cutting down the dazed and confused survivors turned out to be, indeed, the easiest thing Emron had done all day. In the space of forty seconds, twenty crazed acolytes had been exploded, shredded, and hacked to bits. In a most welcome addition, the alarm had been annihilated in the first blast. _Not bad at all. Now to get in the tomb, and hope that these fools were all that stood between me and the Beast._

* * *

 _Perhaps the galaxy does still have a few small mercies left for me._

It turned out that the acolytes had been the only thing between him and the lowest levels of the tomb, where Marka Ragnos was buried and the Beast stood guard over his sarcophagus. Of course, Emron still had had to navigate the tomb itself, although that turned out to be easier than expected.

The tomb proved to be much more ornate than Ajunta Pall's. Whereas the engravings in Ajunta's tomb had been of the standard variety that focused on a Lord's mastery over the Force and others, Ragnos' tomb featured at least half a dozen antechambers filled with statues, reliefs, and carvings showcasing a wide variety of subjects ranging from the many architectural wonders constructed during his reign to elaborate ceremonies and rituals which featured prominent Lords and kings bedecked in dazzling finery as they decided the future of their Empire in huge, ornate palaces. The entire tomb would have been a xenoanthropologist's dream find were it not for the oppressive darkness that hung over everything that dared to set foot inside, and the all-consuming presence of the Dark Side that stood ready to twist anyone and anything into its puppet.

This level of detail, of course, added up to ensure a much larger tomb than Ajunta Pall's. Emron figured, judging by the number of antechambers he had passed through and side corridors he had spied leading off into hallways of total blackness that Ragnos' mausoleum had to be at least three times larger than the previous tomb he had had to journey through. However, the tomb had proven relatively straightforward in comparison. Ragnos seemed to have wanted others to enter his final resting place and gaze upon its glory, and had had it constructed accordingly. As such, the tomb was essentially one long tunnel with branching pathways that presumably led to the burial chambers of favored underlings, a practice that was not unheard of in the days of the ancient Sith Empire, although the idea of having actually loyal underlings was so rare that any ruins with such a feature were very much exceptions to the rule.

 _Loyal underlings, how very novel. If one were to suggest such an idea today, he might as well toss in showing mercy for the sake of showing mercy and coexistence with aliens as well just for the sake of seeing how much of an uproar he could create before being assassinated for such radical thinking._

Idly, Emron flicked his eyes towards one of the carvings that was just barely illuminated by the red glow let off by his war blade. It showed what was most likely a very influential Sith Lord accompanied by a number of servants as he attended what looked like a political rally. What made the image stand out was the fact that the majority of the servants were aliens, something simply not done in current times, not with the Empire espousing pro-Human sentiments. Sith Lords were expected to keep large all-Human coteries of sycophants that waited on their every whim.

 _How extremely droll. If certain members of the Dark Council were to see these carvings they'd most likely have a heart attack, before ordering the tomb be eradicated from orbit, all that drivel about "reconnecting with our long-lost heritage" be damned.. Probably all done while suffering another heart attack._

Such thoughts were the only thing keeping Emron company during his stroll through the tomb. It almost made him wish that there were K'lor'slugs, then he would have something to break up the unending silence that gripped the tomb.

 _No, best that I be left alone with my thoughts for now. Force knows I'll need everything I've got to even have a chance at defeating this Beast, never mind actually killing the thing. No need for wearing myself out before even reaching it._

Taking a right turn down another flight of stairs, he entered into a large amphitheater. Its rock walls were lined by hooded figures that stood behind huge stone tablets proclaiming ancient Sith teachings, incised in forgotten languages, while the ceiling vaulted high above Emron's head, until it was lost in impenetrable darkness. In the center of the chamber was a dais of chiseled stone, upon which rested a partially smashed sarcophagus, the final resting place of the all-powerful Sith Lord once known to the Sith as Marka Ragnos. All of this was backlit by a number of copper braziers that surrounded the dais, from which spewed forth cold blue flames eternal.

 _Ostentatious, overly large, dramatic, creepy, and downright intimidating. Seems I've found what I've been looking for. But where exactly, is this Beast that I'm supposed to kill? Tremel wasn't very forthcoming on the details now that I think about it._

Wandering over to the coffin, Emron observed that it had been smashed multiple times. _Not reassuring, those blows definitely weren't made by people or tools, considering how I'm probably the first person with the chutzpah to come down here since they laid Ragnos to rest. Probably the sithspawn then. And if that thing can punch holes in stone, there's no way I'm letting it near my head._

Glancing around, he made his way over to a circle of braziers that stood in front of a massive tablet that lay upright against the far wall. Kneeling down inside the ring, he could feel the sheer power of the Dark Side laying heavily upon his mind. Instinctively reaching out, he grasped it and followed it back to its source. That was when Emron realized just what he had landed himself in. The presence on the other side of the link was massive, cruel, ancient, and above all, _hungry._ And it now knew he was here.

Emron barely had time to break the link and scramble to his feet when the terentatek burst through the wall to his right like some sort of eldritch Jawa Juice Man. He barely had time to take in the Beast before it was upon him, glimpsing gray flesh, a huge maw with far too many jagged teeth, and long cruel talons that stretched forth from gigantic hands. Then adrenaline began to flood into his system, and Emron had no time to contemplate the abomination trying to eviscerate him.

Whipping the war blade off his back and thumbing the activation button, Emron threw himself to his left as the Beast slammed its fists down where he had been only moments before. The monster roared in frustration as it swung wildly to its right, hoping to catch Emron off-guard, only to lose one of its talons as Emron had back stepped and swung his blade downwards onto the massive hand. Growling in rage, the Beast stumbled backwards as it brought up its hand to inspect the damage done, before dropping it and narrowing its eyes at Emron, who was alternating keeping tabs on the Beast and glaring at his war blade.

 _Well this thing is absolutely fekking worthless, glanced right off the hide. Anything else would have suffered some severe damage from that strike! Who do I have to brutally murder for a lightsaber around here?_

The Beast howled at him, breaking his chain of thought, before charging at him with incredible speed. _Kriff but this thing is unnaturally fast!_ Emron barely had time to vault over the Beast with a Force assisted jump, striking at the back of the monster's head as he passed, the war blade once again bouncing off its skin. _Kriffing damn this piece of junk!_

Landing on the other side of the creature, he quickly fished out his last thermal detonator while sheathing his war blade. _Alright, this clearly isn't working. Time for something really stupid and potentially hazardous to my health. Part one, get the thing's attention._

If Emron's earlier use of Force Suggestion had been the mental equivalent of subtly whispering into another person's ear, then what he was currently attempting to pull off was the equivalent of standing next to someone with a megaphone disk and screaming orders at them. Except the Beast seemed to be particularly Force-resistant, so the metaphorical person on the receiving end was deaf. However, Emron was able to get enough of his message through that the Beast understood the gist of it.

Lumbering back over to the motionless acolyte, the Beast briefly wondered why it had not simply grabbed this troublesome morsel before. Surely, it thought as it dangled the human above it, all that expended effort worked up an appetite bigger than what this appetizer would be capable of satisfying? So wrapped up in its thoughts, it failed to notice the human drop a flashing orb from one of its hands and into its cavernous maw until it started choking on the primed detonator.

Prying himself out of the now preoccupied Beast's grip and just barely managing to avoid falling into its mouth, Emron rolled as he landed on the hard stone floor, propelling himself to his feet and running away from the impending blast as fast as he could. _I can't believe that worked. That_ shouldn't _have worked. What is this, some stupid holofiction?_

There was a muffled explosion, followed by a mild shaking of the ground as the detonator exploded, immediately followed by a much larger tremor as the Beast's body thudded to the ground. Turning around, Emron was greeted with the sight of a terentatek with most of its head and throat blasted away struggling to stand. _Oh you have got to be joking right now,_ was all he could think before the creature collapsed for one final time.

 _That's better._

Emron carefully approached the motionless monstrosity, pulling the war blade off his back as he did so. Reaching the Beast, he quickly plunged the weapon through the roof of what was left of its mouth and into its brain. _Best to make sure._

The Beast let out one last defiant gurgle through its ruined throat before Emron felt its life essence drain out of it. Satisfied, he turned and exited the crypt.

* * *

The trip back to the Academy had been uneventful, even if Emron had ended up cutting it close on leaving the Valley before darkness fell. Now, as he wandered through the halls on his way back to Overseer Tremel's office, he idly wondered what else Tremel had planned for him.

 _A test of judgment and a test of strength, the next one is most certainly not a test of mental clarity, given the noises I've heard echoing through these halls. Hopefully he lets me lay down for a few hours, I've been running around ever since I landed. Highly unlikely, given how much he goes on about us having little time, but still, a nice thought to have._

Turning the last corner to the Overseer's office, he was greeted with a most unwelcome sight. The three hundred pound, all muscles and scars, walking beefcake commonly known as Dolgis was walking up to him with a most unforgivably smug look on his face and a drawn war blade in his hand. Emron had his own war blade drawn almost before he realized it.

"Well well," Dolgis leisurely drawled as he came to a stop in front of Emron, "Look at this, you and me, alone. What was it that Vemrin said last time that we had the pleasure of meeting here?"

"I'll be perfectly honest," Emron bit back, "I was hardly paying any attention to you idiots then, but I seem to recall there being a part about accidents."

"Indeed there was," Dolgis snarled, the smug look dropping completely off his face, "And you know what 'accidents' means here at the Academy? No witnesses. Look around you, you piece of waste, and you'll see that there happens to be no witnesses. How unfortunate it would be if something were to happen to you with no one around to help you."

"I could say the same in regards to you," Emron snapped, eyes narrowing.

"Oh it'll be fun gutting you, scum," Dolgis sneered as he activated his war blade, Emron doing the same.

The fight, if it could even be called that, was disappointingly short for Emron's tastes. Dolgis turned out to be more bark than bite, with months spent intimidating acolytes rather than killing them taking his edge off. Emron, on the other hand, had just killed a Dark Side monster out of legend, and despite his tiredness he was easily able to overpower and disarm his opponent before forcing Dolgis to his knees.

"Wait, please!" Dolgis said, his face white with panic.

"Begging for your life after all that talk about killing me? For some strange reason I find myself not inclined to grant you mercy," Emron said disgustedly. "Your actions are disgraceful and unbecoming any true Sith."

"I'll do anything you want me to, I-I can bring the other acolytes under your sway!" Dolgis replied, desperately switching tack.

"No, I don't think so," Emron said, before effortlessly beheading the man.

Rolling his shoulders, Emron turned to enter Tremel's office.

 _Force but that was cathartic,_ was all he could think as he walked through the doorway.

* * *

Tremel was there to greet him as soon as he entered. The look on his face was not reassuring.

"Acolyte, I am afraid I made a terrible mistake," he said.

 _Somehow, given your track record so far, I'm not surprised. What, has Baras learned from literally everyone else on this planet that you've had an acolyte brought in 'secretly' to become his apprentice?_

"When you slew the Beast of Marka Ragnos, the event unleashed a massive wave of Dark Side energy. Darth Baras felt it and looked into the matter, despite my best efforts. He now knows you are here on this planet, and what my intent is in regards to you."

 _I hate it when I'm right. It seems this is a bad time to bring up the headless body currently lying outside this room._

"Let me guess, he demanded that you send me before him," Emron ventured.

"Correct, and you are very much unprepared for this meeting. All I can give you is this piece of advice regarding Baras: be careful. He will question you, search every fiber of your very being to discern your true nature. Do not even think of resisting, or he will destroy you utterly. And do not take anything he says at face value. Baras is a master manipulator, every word he speaks, every act that he performs, is done with a purpose. Those purposes always serve to further his aims."

"I see," Emron replied cautiously. _Emron, what have you gotten yourself into now?_

"I have already taken up too much time, go now, and hurry. Darth Baras is an impatient man," Tremel said, practically shooing Emron out of the office.

 _Alright_ , Emron thought as he reentered the hallway, _time to see if the Force favors me or not._

As he absentmindedly stepped over Dolgis' headless corpse, he spared just enough of energy to wonder if he should go back and inform Tremel that he had a decapitated body lying in the hallway outside his office.

 _I'm sure he'll find out sooner or later._

 **A/N: Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter out, end of the semester and what not. Plenty of writing has been done, just not on this story.**

 **Also, holy crap, people actually seem to like this story for some odd reason. To answer the reviews:**

 **Lord Lelouch: Glad you enjoyed, and in regards to your request, yes, I do intend to include other Force powers. However, it will be basic level abilities, don't expect any Force Storms. I want to have Emron as a proper Sith, but still stay true to the game's portrayal of the Sith Warrior class which highly focused on lightsaber combat. As such, Force skills will be used more as a supplement rather than a primary weapon. But there will be lightning, so no worries on that front.**

 **Deanov: Glad you enjoyed too, and yeah, I intend to make this story more realistic, as compared to the almost idealized settings and cartoony violence we see in game. As for the choices, I'm trying to portray Emron as someone who tries to make choices based on what's best for the Empire, even if they do clash with Sith ideals. But at the end of the day, he's still a Sith, so don't expect him to start showing mercy out of the goodness of his heart.**

 **Also, this story has well over 300 views as of this chapter going, so thanks everyone for reading and reviewing!**


	6. Plans in Motion

_Chapter 5: Plans in Motion_

 **Korriban**

 **The Darth**

Baras was furious.

No, scratch that, _beyond_ furious.

No secrets that dwelled inside even the deepest recesses of one's mind were beyond his grasp. All that transpired within the walls of the Academy and in the winding crags of the Valley of the Dark Lords was made known to him within minutes. His reach spread throughout the Empire and beyond, stretching even into the gilded halls of senators on Coruscant, their fevered whisperings and secret gossip laid bare before him by trusted servants and bugged protocol droids.

Information was power, and because of that simple fact Baras was one of the mightiest individuals in the galaxy. With such power he had long crafted elaborate schemes, placing agents deep within his enemies' ranks, until such time came that all it took was one word to wreak havoc in the ranks of foes both Imperial and Republic.

Yet, despite his long reach, his innumerable servants and spies, and his mastery over the Dark Side, all his plans stood in jeopardy due to one unforeseen obstacle. One individual, a child really, threatened to undo decades of meticulous planning and excruciating amounts of foresight. Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.

Baras scowled at the report that lay before him on his desk. Agents across multiple worlds no longer reporting in, numerous more in danger of being exposed; his network, which he had painstakingly laid the groundwork for so many years ago, being slowly taken apart piece by piece.

 _Nomen Karr, you Force damned fierfek. Always ruining one plan or another. And now you seem to think you can ruin everything._

Baras shifted his glare upwards towards the man who had delivered the report. The man's terror was flooding through Baras' office and spilling out into the hallways beyond. His face became even paler, though Baras would have deemed it unlikely if he had not seen it happen himself, and sweat practically poured down his face as he was confronted with Baras' expressionless metal Sith mask.

The man suddenly found himself inconvenienced with the fact that his neck had sudden been twisted to a highly advised-against angle. As his lifeless body dropped to the floor with a thud, Baras directed his attention back to the report. Idly he contemplated calling in an acolyte to dispose of the body, before remembering the upcoming meeting he had.

 _No,_ he mused, _Let Tremel's pet be reminded of just who he thinks he can fool._

Tremel. Now there was a joke if he had ever heard one. Not that he had heard many; saying Sith were notoriously ill-humored was a massive understatement. Still, the man had plenty of audacity, if nothing else. When would Overseers ever learn that tampering with the selection process would only end in a painful death?

 _A test then, should this acolyte prove worth my time,_ Baras thought. _He kills Tremel, thus proving his obedience and ridding me of an insolent underling. Two mynocks with one Force-propelled stone. It will be another test of his martial skills as well, not that he needs to prove himself in that regard, for sure._

Baras removed his mask and rubbed his temples. Any doubt as to whether or not Tremel's poorly kept secret could fight was washed away in a tidal wave of Dark Side energies. He had been contemplating how to reassign a number of his more important agents without making their new positions too suspicious when the Beast of Marka Ragnos had been slain, and the ensuing aftershocks had slammed into his mental shields like a _Harrower-_ class dreadnought plowing into the surface of a moon. He had suffered a migraine for two hours afterwards, though he had been one of the luckier ones. Many Lords and apprentices had passed out from the intensity, and a few acolytes had even died, their minds consumed by the Dark Side. It had been right after the pain had died down to a tolerable level that he had immediately cast his will out into the Force, searching for the one responsible. In his searching he had found Emron, still returning from the Valley of the Dark Lords, and had had his minions bring him all the information they could find on him.

Yes, this Emron could fight, almost admirably so. The only question remained as to whether or not he was ready to execute Baras' will, to strike down loyal followers of the Empire in order to further his master's agenda. Baras knew that Emron was prone to putting what was best for the Empire over displays of power, making him a rare breed among the Sith. Hardly an anomaly, as Darth Marr himself usually did the same, but such actions were frowned upon by the more orthodox Sith. Such a mindset, when combined with Baras' plans ultimately serving Baras alone, could produce bothersome results.

Still, troubling attitude aside, this acolyte was still proving to be much more promising than that oaf, Vemrin. The tasks he would be assigning his apprentice would be subtle, and Vemrin had all the subtlety of Imperial invasion fleet. In addition, he talked far too much. However, he was the most promising of the lot, and unless Emron could demonstrate his worthiness, Baras knew he would have to accept him.

Using the Force to dull the last remnants of pain, Baras reapplied his mask and placed the report to the side of the desk. He could sense the acolytes approaching now. Now was the time to see if Baras had a weapon capable of countering Karr's secret apprentice, or just another failure who would be joining the body already crumpled on the floor.

* * *

The assembled acolytes stood at a respectful distance from his desk, nervously eyeing the corpse that had become the newest decoration in Baras' office. Only Vemrin managed to maintain his focus upon him, though Baras knew that the lesson was not lost him. Failure was not welcome here in Darth Baras' chambers, no matter what role one played in it.

Baras cast a glance at the group of acolytes, instantly paling most of them. Aside from Vemrin and Tremel's newest toy, none of them mattered. Not that any of them would be returning from their newest trial anyways, their continued survival so far had mostly been flukes from what he had been told.

 _Speaking of Tremel's poorly kept secret, I fail to see him here. Already he is proving to be less impressive than I'd hoped,_ Baras thought with annoyance. Reaching out with the Force to read the life signs of the current inhabitants of the Academy, he found Emron just about to enter the hallway leading to his office. He also found four acolytes waiting to greet him. Curious. A trap set by another acolyte, most likely Vemrin, or something else entirely?

 _No matter, if he cannot deal with four acolytes, then he is already useless to me. I wished to speak with him alone anyways._

Turning his full attention to the group of acolytes who had been nervously waiting for the past few minutes, he informed them of their newest task. Naturally he laid the fear on thick to these worms.

"Your next trial is to enter the tomb of Tulak Hord and retrieve for me any and all artifacts that you can, and then bring them back here to me. If you die, then you are worthless and do not deserve to be remembered, and if you give up I will personally slaughter each and every one of you. Do not waste my time by bringing back trivial pieces of rocks or carvings. Failure to bring back items worth study will result in your painful and drawn-out demise," Baras said in a deep tone, the one he reserved for when he deigned to dirty his hands with torture. His eyes flitted to the entrance, where one last acolyte had just entered.

 _So this is the one that Tremel hoped to foist upon me. Disappointing._

He returned his gaze back to the rest of the acolytes, "Now leave my sight, you worthless cretins."

Baras watched as he saw Vemrin and another acolyte, Klemral, he believed, approached Emron, who had propped himself up against the back wall. He observed intently as he watched Vemrin lean in towards Emron, while Klemral's eyes darted back and forth between the pair.

 _Interesting, this hopeful has been here for a matter of hours and already Vemrin treats him as a major threat._ It was then that Klemral said something that caused Vemrin's attention to snap back to him, before Baras stood up.

"Klemral, Vemrin, I seem to recall saying that you two were to leave," he said, his voice full of danger.

Klemral practically bolted at that, though Vemrin stayed behind to snarl one last thing at Emron. _A curious dynamic between those two, it will be entertaining, if nothing else to watch it play out._

"Step forward acolyte," he said, gesturing towards Emron. "Are you having trouble with acolyte Vemrin?"

"No, my Lord, I am more than capable of handling one such as he," Emron responded, looking him full on. _Good, good, he faces his superiors with the proper amount of fear and respect. Not the sniveling and groveling like the rest of these vermin. Ziost ruins so many with its emphasis on fear. But how ready is he truly?_

"Vemrin is more than capable of backing up his claims, acolyte," Baras reminded him as he walked around to the front of his desk. "He is cunning, he is ruthless, and he is skilled. He has worked his way up to where he is now, has fought against a stacked pazaak deck. You, on the other hand…" he said as he walked down the steps that led up to his desk. "Let me look at you."

Stopping about a meter in front of Emron, he cast a critical eye over him. The man was around his early twenties, clearly trained well in the ways of swordsmanship, with a muscled body, and clear sharp eyes. But as he probed the acolyte's mind, he was disappointed. _A focus on the martial and a lack of the theoretical and philosophical. Tremel pulled this one out of Ziost far too early. The fool._

"I sense Overseer Tremel has done the both of us a grave disservice," he intoned as he withdrew his probe. "I know all that he has done for you since your arrival, his actions were nowhere near as subtle as he thought them to be. You received your warblade far too early, acolytes are not to be given the task of retrieving one until they have proven they can hold their own in sparring. He also had a number of prisoners delivered for you to pretend to judge. While your judgments were adequate, the fact that Tremel felt the need for you to prove your decision making is alarming. Even having you kill the Beast of Marka Ragnos, instead of sending you off world is a subversion of traditional Sith training methods, traditional methods that I'm sure he has told you all about. Everything in the trials is done for a specific reason and at a specific time. Disregarding these specifics results in acolytes like you, weak and undisciplined."

He did not fail to note the subtle flinch that played across Emron's face as he passed his judgment upon him, but to Emron's credit he did not interrupt, did not allow any emotion beyond the flinch to appear, nor had he shown any pain when Baras had casually ripped the mental probe out. Perhaps he still had a chance.

"You are a product of your Overseer, an Overseer who has done nothing but ruin your chances since you arrived, and even before you arrived. You would have spent another three years at the Ziost Institution, followed by six months of trials here at the Academy. All of that training would have added up to ensure that you have the proper understanding of what it means to be Sith. Repeat the Sith Code to me acolyte."

Baras watched as Emron struggled to recall anything he might have learned that could be the Code, knowing full well that the acolyte had never heard it before in full.

"I…do not know, my Lord," Emron finally admitted after racking his brain for a few minutes.

"Precisely," Baras said, disdain seeping into the crisp tones in which he normally spoke. "The actions of Overseer Tremel have hindered your progress along the path to becoming a Sith. Such actions are the result of a willful denial of the ever-evolving Sith paradigm. Such actions are treasonous, and all traitors to the Empire receive a just punishment."

"Death," Emron finished for him.

"Yes. That is why the first trial I am assigning to you is this: Return to Overseer Tremel and kill him. Bring me his hand as proof. And know that I will know if you even so much as think about acting otherwise."

"Then why do you need his hand as proof if you will already know if I killed him or not?"

"As proof that you can follow my orders to the letter, without _asking questions,_ " Baras responded. Emron might not have been able to see the impressive glare that Baras now wore behind his Sith mask, but he still paled slightly all the same, knowing full well the consequences of annoying such a powerful Sith like Baras. "Now get out of my sight."

Baras watched as Emron turned and walked out at a carefully measured pace, as if he was worried that leaving too fast or too slowly might be enough for Baras to reject him unequivocally. With a sigh, he turned around and reached for his holocom. He would have one of his underlings tail the acolyte to ensure that he fulfilled his task. And if he did, and in an impressive enough fashion…

 _Vemrin, you might just yet have some serious competition._

 **A/N: No, I'm not dead. Now that finals are done and over with, I can devote actual time into this. Thanks to all who've been reading this in the meantime, it really does motivate me to get up off my lazy ass and start writing. Anyways, a Baras POV chapter, not something I was sure about doing at first. Still not completely sure about it. Writing about master manipulators is a tricky business, but hopefully I nailed it sufficiently in this. To Deanov and Lord Lelouch, your continued reviews are very much appreciated and something I look forward to reading. Happy holidays and merry Christmas to everybody!**


	7. Prove Your Worth

_Chapter 6: Prove Your Worth_

 **Korriban**

 **The Overseer**

He knew.

He knew he had failed. He had shown his hand in the proverbial sabacc game and had come up short. The stakes had been high, the payoff unimaginable. Now he had to pay the price of failure, just as he had knew he would have to. He could only hope that Emron had made enough of an impression upon Baras that his plan could continue on, albeit in a limit form.

Oh, he had no false impressions. Today, here in this tiny office from which he had tested hundreds of acolytes with the Sith Trials, the man known as Tremel would die, and no one would mourn his passing, or remember his name. Only Eskella might, but he had distanced himself from her long ago. She only cared about power and its exercise these days. It was a rather depressing train of thought when he reflected upon it. Yet he had no regrets. He had dedicated himself to making the Empire and the Sith great, and there was nothing else he would have rather done.

 _One last lesson, provided in death, for the man I pinned all my hopes upon then,_ Tremel mused. _A Sith has no regrets when he stares death in the face, instead he laughs in its face and dares it to do its worst._

He could sense his acolyte approaching his office, each footstep reverberating through the Force with all the finality of Fate itself. He could sense the man's innermost feelings, knew that Emron did not want to carry out this course of action, that it went against his personal beliefs on how the Sith should act, yet still he advanced towards his destiny. He could sense how Emron knew he was being forced into this situation, but at the same time knew that such actions were what were required to survive, were required for power.

And Tremel was content. While he knew that Emron had many fool notions as to how the Sith should be; the thoughts exceedingly easy to pluck from his poorly shielded mind whenever they spoke, but he would, at least, uphold this tradition at the very least, of advancement through dismemberment.

He would be lying if he said he had not given Emron's thoughts some thinking of his own. It was true that powerful Sith that would have been invaluable in the battles against the Republic had been slain by their upstart apprentices or killed in petty power plays, but he would be lying twice if he said he agreed with changing the Sith Order in an attempt to prevent these things from happening. Just like when he had brought Emron to Korriban to prevent those of lesser blood from contaminating the most prestigious positions in the Order, and just like now when Baras had sent Emron to kill Tremel for going behind his back and attempting to manipulate him, everything that occurred within the Order happened for a reason. To deny this fundamental truth would be to deny everything that it meant to be a Sith, and would lead only to destruction at the hands of the Jedi, the Republic, and the inevitable rampant infighting that would occur between traditionalists and reformists.

 _No, best to hope that reality pounds that fool notion out of his head,_ Tremel thought, _or he may end up becoming one of the gravest threats to the Order that has ever existed. Baras will certainly not allow it, I can know that for certain, even if the man shrouds everything else he does in a cloak of shadows, so I can count on at least some sort of constancy in that regard. There can be no room for hesitancy or doubt. What we do is for the good of the Sith._

That was why, here, at the end of his usefulness, he was content. He knew what Baras sending Emron to kill him signified: Baras was willing to give the acolyte serious consideration should he succeed. Yet Tremel would by no means go out quietly. No, Emron would kill him, but he would have to fight like he had never fought before to kill him.

He could sense Emron just outside his office now, undoubtedly thinking over what he was about to do. Taking the brief moment to steel himself, Tremel stood up from his desk and walked around to the front of it, unconsciously adjusting the lightsaber that hung from his belt as he did so. Then there came the unmistakable sound of a warblade being activated, and Emron walked in a second later.

"Acolyte," Tremel said, almost drawing his lightsaber before forcing himself not to. They had to play this entire charade out, after all. One never knew when Baras was watching.

"Overseer," Emron returned, "I assume that you know Darth Baras has sent me to kill you?" Tremel could see his fingers tightening their grip on the warblade's handle.

"Indeed."

"Then you also know I will not hesitate to carry out his will."

Tremel let out a low chuckle and shook his head slightly, "But you already have, acolyte. I could sense your reluctance before you were even halfway back. You really need to spend some more time in learning to strengthen your shields, or you will not last a month as Baras' apprentice."

"Whatever reticence you might have sensed on my trip here is gone," Emron said, eyes narrowing, "I will do what has been ordered of me, irregardless of how I may feel personally."

Tremel smiled faintly at that. Good, perhaps his pupil did have a chance after all.

"So be it," he said, pulling the lightsaber into his hand and activating it. "I will not hold back acolyte, this is where you die." A blatant lie, he had no intention of killing Emron, but then, there was no need for the man to know that. Tremel may have been outplayed in regards to his continued existence, but he was not about to let Baras completely ruin his plan. He had come too far, planned too long, to let an upstart acolyte degenerate the Sith.

The two men shifted into ready stances and eyed each other for a long moment before making their first moves, Tremel thrusting high with Emron parrying the strike.

For the next few minutes the battle raged between the two men, neither able to gain the advantage over the other, but Tremel knew it was only a matter of time. He was not surprised that Emron was able to hold his own, the man had been foremost amongst his peers when it came to blade work, but he could feel every last year weighing on his body, slowing him down and dulling his reflexes. How long had it been since he had been in a serious saber fight? Too many years, and he had hardly been able to keep up a steady training regimen with his duties of trialing acolytes. As he swung horizontally, only to have it blocked with ease by Emron, he knew that his end was but mere minutes away.

As he pondered this, Emron unleashed a flurry of vicious strikes that he only barely managed to block or evade, accidently leaving himself open for the slightest of moments. It was enough. Emron swung high, slicing open Tremel's left shoulder. As he recoiled instinctively out of shock and pain, his opponent took the opportunity to plunge his warblade towards Tremel's chest.

 _All this time, all this effort, all over in less than a blink,_ Tremel thought as the tip of the weapon soared toward him. _Played the game and lost to—_

Then Emron's warblade smashed through his chest, bursting his heart and skewering him as it reappeared out the other side, repainting the stone-grey desk behind him red with gore. He saw a flash of white, and then the man once known to the galaxy as Overseer Tremel was no more.

There was no one to mourn him as his body slumped forward upon Emron's blade, no one to remember his name as his lightsaber fell out of his lifeless hand and onto the floor, extinguishing itself in the process.

 **A/N: Seems like these chapters are getting shorter and shorter aren't they? No fear, next chapter will be nice, long, and finally back to Emron's POV. Hope everyone had a good Christmas! On to reviews shall we?**

 **Lord Lelouch: Glad you liked it, and no worries, overcoming his deficiencies is definitely something that Emron will be doing a lot of in this.**

 **Deanov: Thanks, I really wanted to portray Baras not only as a villain, but also a very serious and threatening one. What does Baras do in-game to establish this after all? Nothing. You can sass him all story long, ignore his commands, hell, the man can't even *spoiler spoiler spoiler* you correctly at the beginning of chapter 3. So making Baras a credible threat capable of coming down hard at the slightest sign of disobedience is going to be a point of this story.**

 **UltimateTouken: Glad you're liking the story so far, and yes, Emron will be more assertive as time goes by, but for now, expect to see a good amount of deference. Think of this whole bit as a job interview, with lethal results should he be rejected. He's not taking any chances, but, like you said, we're still on Korriban.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, and followed so far!**


	8. Tomb Raider

_Chapter 7: Tomb Raider_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

Usually, when one is confronted with a momentous occasion within their life that challenges their ways of viewing how the universe works, or a realization that reality can and will force them to act in ways they find at odds with the way they believe they should be acting, intense emotions of shock, anger, and disbelief tend to well up and seize command of their thought processes. Maybe they come to the realization that their previous beliefs were in the wrong; that they should, in fact, be doing the opposite of their previous inclinations. However they choose to react to these turning points though, complete and total apathy tends to not be a common reaction. Yet apathy was all that was consuming Emron as he walked through the stone-grey halls of the Sith Academy, the all-too-familiar near-silence his only companion as he made his way back to Darth Baras' office.

Killing Tremel was by no means a first for him. He had killed plenty of beings before, both since his arrival on Korriban and during his time at the Ziost Institution, both directly and indirectly. While he certainly felt no remorse over his actions, those kills had either been made during the heat of battle, or done in the name of continued living. To kill a person who had done him no wrong at the behest of a manipulative master, even if said person had been trying to manipulate him as well, was a different experience for him. A distasteful experience.

Tremel's death had been necessary, to be sure, and Emron could even justify it as yet another soul that he had sacrificed upon the altar to the gods known as Survival and Advancement. But was this what he had to look forward to if he survived Baras' trials? Life as a personal assassin to a man that would use him and then discard him when his usefulness had been deemed expended? Whatever had happened to his dreams of serving the Empire loyally and to the best of his ability on the fields of battle, of using his Force-sensitivity to combat the mortal enemies of the Sith, the Jedi; of fighting so that others would not have to live in fear of the threat of a looming Republic invasion of Imperial space?

 _I suppose I already know that answer to that one,_ Emron thought as he walked past the enormous holocron that dominated the Academy courtyard. _Gone, long since offered up to the ways of the Sith. All that remains now are bastardized leftovers that state that I should fight, not for others, but only for myself. Only power is all that is supposed to matter now._

He turned the severed hand over as he began to ascend the stairs that led to the second floor, considering the metal band that adorned the ring finger. He had been lucky, he supposed, to have lasted as long as he had so far. Idealists like him tended to be the first ones to go in the Institution, either cut down by zealous supplicants seeking quick advancement or tortured to death by the inquisitors as an example to others. Emron himself had more than a few scars littered across his body, received at the hands of a particularly eager inquisitor, daily reminders of what his ideals had cost him in the past; prophets of what he would undoubtedly suffer in the future if he continued to cling to them. They also reminded him that had Tremel not accelerated his progress by summoning him to Korriban he most likely would be dead by now.

 _Owed this hand's former owner a debt, a debt he undoubtedly would have utilized to the fullest had he lived longer. Even so, repaid it with blood pooling across the stones and not even so much as a thought in the direction towards thankfulness that I'm still breathing._

He had considered taking Tremel's lightsaber as a memento, but had quickly discarded the idea. Acolytes carrying lightsabers, for whatever reason, were quickly killed. Lightsabers were as much badges of status as they were weapons among the Sith, and such an act would be seen as a flagrant attempt of saying that one was better than all those who had worked, schemed, and murdered for their lightsabers. If he was not cut down by a Lord or Darth for his perceived arrogance, he would have been swarmed by other acolytes hoping to gain any amount of favor with their overseers. So he had left it back in Tremel's office, the hilt turning as red as its blade as Tremel's blood oozed slowly outwards.

Emron reached the landing that separated the two sets of stairs, pausing for a moment as he thought about what Tremel had said before he had killed him. About his reluctance. He knew that he could have ended that fight much sooner if he had focused and actually fought the man rather than desperately trying to think of any alternatives, any at all, to killing the man. Not that Tremel would have been able to remain in his position as Overseer if he had been shown mercy, or that he would have even accepted mercy. Still, what good were ideals, no matter how brutalized they may be, if one did not make even the slightest amount of effort into attempting to follow them? However, the man had raised an undeniable point. His reluctance to do what was necessary when it came to fellow servants of the Empire was a liability, especially given the nature of his hopefully soon-to-be master.

Turning and beginning to scale the next set of stairs, his thoughts shifted to Baras. He scowled slightly, before carefully shifting his face back to neutral. No, no showing emotions here. Sith might make a big deal about how they allowed emotions to rule them as compared to the Jedi, but emotions could also be used against oneself. However, it was undeniable that the man had set Tremel and himself against each other, all under the excuse of testing him and punishing a so-called traitor, knowing full well what the end result would be. And for what? To prove a point about the dangers of crossing Baras? What purpose had that point served? Emron was no fool, he already knew the end result of displeasing any Dark Lord; so did the other acolytes. The Lords and Darths who might have been affected by Tremel's passing would not have been seriously inconvenienced, if they even noticed at all. The whole exercise had come across as exceedingly petty and needless. Still, Emron had been bound to obey, and he had obeyed.

Emron shook his head slightly, frustrated. There was that reluctance flaring back up, that last remainder of his damnable conscience. If anything was bound to kill him, it was most likely that. The time had long since come and gone to throw its chains off completely, and yet he had clung to the last remainders like a drowning man clings to anything that he thinks will keep him afloat. Why?

As he climbed the last step and turned right towards Baras' office, all he could think was _I'm going to be the death of me sooner or later. Most likely sooner._

* * *

"So, the acolyte returns, his weapon bloodied and his fate clearer," Baras said as Emron walked into his office, standing in front of desk at the top of the steps that granted him a dominating view over all who entered. "You have done well this day, killing an experienced Force user like Tremel with your level of skill in a stand up fight shows that you have much promise indeed."

Emron wordlessly came to a stop before Baras and gave him the severed hand, his eyes never leaving the featureless mask that seemed a permanent fixture on the Darth.

Baras eyed the hand briefly, as if ensuring that the hand had indeed once belonged to the now former Overseer Tremel. All a show of course, the man that Baras had assigned to spy on him had hardly been any sort of subtle. Every action designed to emphasize just who held the power in their friendly chats, every motion deliberate. He then reached up and pulled the gold band off the ring finger, before presenting it to Emron.

"Keep this, as a memento of your beginnings here today. Let the memories grant you strength and remind you of what it feels like to do what must be done."

Emron accepted it, sliding it on to his own ring finger. "Thank you, my Lord," he said. Tremel did deserve to be remembered, his unwavering dedication and fearlessness in the face of certain death

Baras turned around, placing the hand upon his desk, before gazing up at the statue of the Emperor that dominated the office's right wall. "I will confess acolyte, I thought I would have to send someone else to kill Tremel after you inevitably failed to do so. I reckoned that your success in destroying the Beast of Marka Ragnos was a fluke, a victory born not from skill but from luck. I am not interested in a lucky apprentice, not when there is no room for luck where my work is concerned. But you have proved me wrong, and for that…" he said as he turned around to stare Emron in the eye. "For that, I believe you may just end up being the one, rather than Vemrin."

"You honor me, Lord," Emron said, carefully respectful. He truly was honored, despite his earlier misgivings about the man. Dark Lords of the Sith were not the type to dole out praise lightly, especially when the Dark Lord in question was one as powerful and high up in the Sith hierarchy as Baras was. However, the fact that his abilities had been doubted, no matter how momentarily, stung a bit.

"You have made your first steps towards understanding the Sith Code," Baras said as he strode towards Emron, his words becoming deeper and more powerful with each step taken. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, we gain strength. Through strength, we gain power. Through power we gain victory. Through victory, our chains are broken."

Baras came to a stop before Emron. "The Force shall free us," he intoned. "By killing Tremel, you have gained power and broken his chains over you, thus escaping his fate."

Emron nodded, more for his own benefit than for Baras' as he turned around and walked back behind his desk.

"Tell me, how does it feel?" Baras asked as he sat down in his austere metal chair. "Tremel placed a great deal of faith in you, hoping to use you in his schemes. And then you returned to him and killed him without even the slightest of protests about the whole thing. Spare me the inevitable spiel about my being superior to the both of you many times over, I simply wish to know why you did what you did, and how it felt to do so."

Emron frowned slightly as he stared upwards at Baras. How had it felt? Why had he done it? What was the point of these questions? "I did what was necessary, and while I took no pleasure from killing the man, we both had known that such an event was very much likely to occur from the moment I landed on Korriban." There, the truth. No point in lying to a man who could smash through his mental shields so easily, after all.

Baras gazed down upon him, as if studying him for any hint of weakness or deceit. Emron could feel the mental probe worming around in his mind, a cold, writing feeling that left a deep chill wherever it roamed, seeking out any information that Emron might have left out, intentionally or not. This continued on for the next few minutes, with Emron coming close to squirming underneath the combination of the scorching glare that Baras' mask was impressively capable of transmitting despite its shortage of features and the icy tendrils of the mental attack. Suddenly the probe withdrew, leaving an odd tingling, gaping sensation in its wake, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees as Baras masterfully conveyed the impression of looking thoughtful.

"I see. The answer I hoped you would give, truthfully. Yes, you are exactly what I need if my plans are to come to fruition. Your kill was quick, to the point, and most of all, subtle. I ill need some fool who potentially monologues in front of witnesses, or leaves a headless corpse out for all those who were already suspecting the victim of treason to see."

Emron almost slumped to the floor as the nervousness of the past few minutes began to fade. As it was, he managed to remain upright, albeit slightly shaky.

"I have your next Trial for you acolyte. Within the tomb of Tulak Hord are a number of ancient inscriptions, Sith teachings from one of the greatest Lords who ever lived. While the inscriptions have long since been mostly worn away or shattered, there are still fragments to be found that can shed light upon the Order prior to the Great Hyperspace War. You shall enter the tomb and retrieve me a number of these fragments. And be warned, Vemrin and the other acolytes are already within. I do not think I need to tell you that these fragments are to be retrieved by any means possible."

"Yes, my Lord," Emron said, knowing full well the meaning of the last sentence.

"Good, then leave. Complete this task, and complete it promptly, or do not bother returning," Baras said, making an absentminded motion of dismissal as he glanced down at a holopad on his desk.

Emron bowed slightly, then turned and exited the office, his mind fully upon the task ahead of him.

* * *

It was a bit of a hike to Tulak Hord's tomb, but Emron did not mind. At least he did not have to return to the further reaches of the Valley of the Dark Lords, plus it gave him a chance to clear his head; prepare for the task ahead. _Another day, another tomb,_ he thought as he distractedly played with the ring on his finger, _what number is this one now? Three?_

By the Force he was tired. How long had it been since he had last had a chance to just lay and close his eyes? Well before his arrival, that was for sure. He had stayed awake to continue practicing aboard the _Empire's Grip_ instead of resting, and had been running around ever since. Wearily, he shunted some of his exhaustion into the Force. A dangerous technique to be sure, as drawing too heavily on the Force in such a manner would eventually cause an individual to fade away, but it was not like he had much of a choice in the matter. What would he tell Baras if he showed up in his office ten hours from now with no fragments because all the other acolytes had taken them in the meantime?

Emron snorted with brief amusement, a list of ridiculous statements running through his mind. However, as he had no intention of dying just yet, he pushed them out of his mind and turned right in the entrance of the tomb, passing a few Imperial soldiers standing guard outside it. Hopefully their presence was simply to discourage the curious or keep out any slaves trying to hide inside, the last thing he wanted to deal with was a full-blown slave rebellion or some other nonsense.

* * *

 _Why is it that whenever I hope for something, I'm always severely disappointed? Either the galaxy is well and truly peeved at me for some reason, or the Force has a wicked sense of humor._

The trouble had begun almost immediately. After passing a few small knots of slaves and mining droids excavating collapsed passages near the entranceway, he had come across a body that had been riddled with blaster shots. Although it had been almost unidentified due to the number of shots it had taken, Emron recognized it as one of the acolytes he had seen briefly in Baras' office. After a quick rummaging for any fragments that the man might have had, he pushed himself to his feet and moved on.

Now he was in the shadows of an ancient archway, stealthily observing his eclectic opposition. Slaves dressed in a mixture of rags, armed with whatever they could scrounge up, a reprogrammed mining droid utilizing a mixture of welding tools, blasters, and a vibroblade, along with a pair of Imperial deserters scattered about, armed and armored in their standard issue Imperial kit. About seven, all told, in this chamber. He had had worse odds than that.

One of the slaves made the mistake of wandering too closely near the archway, and found himself being yanked into the darkness that enshrouded it. One quick warblade stab later, and there were only six left. Still, he could not rely on stealth to eliminate the rest of them, but he did have at least a minute before they started wondering where their comrade had gone off to.

The slaves would not pose much of a threat, especially not to a trained swordsman like Emron. They mostly were armed with pickaxes, shovels, and the like. It was the droid and troopers he was most worried about. Warblades might be able to withstand lightsaber strikes, but they could not block or deflect blaster bolts. There were more slaves than troopers and droids, at least.

Moving his thumb over the activation stud on the warblade, Emron bunched up his leg muscles and drew on the Force. The sudden noise made by activating the blade was enough to alert his foes, but with the Force-propelled leap he had just made, he was already in their faces by the time they began to react. One of the troopers fell to the ground, his head rolling across the floor. Five. One of the slaves who had been near him suddenly found himself short both of his forearms. Another quick slash from Emron's warblade spilled his guts all over the floor. Four.

By then the two remaining slaves had reached him and begun trying to smash his head in with their improvised weapons. A quick jab at the one on the right dissuaded him long enough for Emron to cause an eruption of blood from the left one as he smashed his blade down into his skull, the warblade coming to a stop just above the jaw. Three. Yanking the blade out, he blocked a downwards strike from a shovel just in time to prevent his skull from erupting likewise. He ducked behind the man just in time to dodge a jet of plasma that shot forth from the droid's welding tool. The man screamed as the flames engulfed him instead of their intended target, and began to melt all over. Two.

Emron Force gripped the last trooper and tossed him into the droid. A quick pair of blows later and he was the last man standing. All told, the fight had lasted less than half a minute.

Emron frowned. On the surface, the fight had occurred flawlessly, all hostiles had been eliminated without any injuries suffered. But the partially melted slave's screams had most likely drawn the attention of any other undesirables in the area. He needed to move.

As he turned to continue on, his foot kicked a small box-like instrument. Kneeling down, the device turned out to be a stealth field generator. Emron had no idea what a simple trooper had been doing with one, seeing how such equipment was usually reserved for Imperial Intelligence operatives, but he was not about to complain.

Pushing himself back up to his feet, he clipped the generator onto his belt and moved onward. No sense in sticking around for enemies to find you, after all.

* * *

 _Well this is different._

Whereas the tomb of Ajunta Pall had been a twisting, winding underground labyrinth, and the tomb of Marka Ragnos had been a generally straightforward affair, the tomb of Tulak Hord had, of all things, a large and exposed outdoor atrium. This would have been a welcome change of pace had said atrium not been littered with a large number of clearly unfriendly slaves, with a few droids and troopers sprinkled in for variety.

"Dammit," Emron breathed. He had been doing fine up until just now. He had managed to find an inscription fragment inside an antechamber a while back, and had avoided a number of hostiles in the process. Then he had stumbled across this. He had known there was a group of rebels holed up inside the tomb, but not this many. The heavy blaster turret emplacements should have been a giveaway.

There was no other way to delve further into the tomb. All the other paths had either been blocked or had led to dead ends, the rooms that they had entered into long since bricked up. By who or what he did not know, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that he had to now somehow traverse _this_ without being killed as soon as he set a single foot out there. He could use the stealth generator, but he had no idea how much charge it still had remaining. The last thing he wanted for it to do was to fail right in front of a large mob of angry slaves. That would be doing his health no favors. Still, what other choices did he have? Go back to Baras, shrug his shoulders and say "Well, I tried?" That was an even less desirable option, with a much more painful outcome. No, the field would have to do.

Reaching down and activating the generator, Emron was relieved it worked in the first place. Now if everything else went as smoothly, he would be a happy acolyte.

* * *

Everything had been going smoothly.

Had been.

He had managed to find another pair of fragments, one inside a room that looked like it had once been an archive of sorts, and the other in another wing that had housed some sort of ancient Sith device. Emron had not bothered messing with the contraption. With his luck the machine would have turned on and immediately sucked out his life force or turned him into a Sithspawn. So he had left it alone and forged deeper into the structure, finding the third fragment. Reckoning he had found enough to satisfy Baras, he had begun making his way back. He had made it halfway back through the atrium when he had seen the faint shimmer around him that showed the field working flicker.

"Fekfekfekfek _fekfekFEK!_ " was all he was able to hiss out before the field flickered and sputtered again.

He looked up at the distance he still had to go before he reached the archway that signified freedom. A good fifty meters. Because why would the Force make anything easy for him? A quick glance around showed that there were no enemies in his immediate vicinity, which was a small comfort. At least, if the field were to drop that instant he would not be instantly jumped. Speaking of dropping, the field wavered again, long this time. What was worse, was that people were beginning to stop and look, wondering if they had just seen something.

"To hell with it," he muttered. He would have to run and hope for the best. The field would drop completely after a second or two, not designed to keep up with such high amounts of activity from its user, but then, it was already dropping. With that thought, he burst into a sprint towards the exit.

Shouts began to split the air almost immediately as the field failed and his body became visible for all to see. Seconds later it was blaster fire instead of shouts making up the majority of the sounds. Still he ran on, the archway becoming closer and closer with each bound.

He had almost made it when his luck ran out. He had almost made it to relative safety when a blaster bolt clipped his right lower leg. He made it about two more strides before the pain caught up with him and he collapsed to the ground. Crawling inside before any more bolts hit him, he managed to haul himself upright on an ancient and crumbling pillar, hissing in pain as he did. Inspecting the wound revealed it to be a minor injury in terms of damage, but the pain would slow him down to an almost unacceptable pace. He would be able to stay ahead of the very loud, very angry, and very deadly mob that he heard charging him, but he would have to hope he managed to avoid the enemies he had slipped by earlier. Setting off as fast as he could while limping, he set out for the entrance of the tomb, hoping those big guns he had passed on his way in worked.

* * *

Short story: they did.

Long story: Emron had managed to limp past a number of groups of slaves who had been too busy gawping at the sight of an acolyte hopping along past them, his sheer audacity, if nothing else, saving his hide. By the time they had managed to pick their jaws off the dusty and dirty floor of the tomb and react, he had managed to make it back to Imperial lines and throw himself to the ground as the blaster rifles and emplacements blazed above him, cut down a score of the rebels before the others wised up and had ran back into the tomb.

Now he was on his way back to Baras after surreptitiously misappropriating a kolto patch from a nearby soldier's kit. He had taken a moment to apply it to his leg, which was feeling better already. His limp was practically gone now, though a hint of pain still flared up every now and then. The exhaustion was back in full strength too, but that was a less pressing issue. Shunting more of the tiredness into the Force without even really thinking, he entered the Academy and began making his way towards Baras' office. Before he reached it however, he was intercepted by a familiar looking acolyte.

"Did you do it? Did you manage to collect some fragments?" the man asked nervously. Without giving Emron the chance to answer, he said "You did, didn't you?"

Ah, that was the name, Klemral. The man had approached him just before Baras had sent him to kill Tremel. Had tried to appear as a friend and ally, a classic tactic to use before trying to freeload off another or putting a vibroblade in their guts. Seeing how the man had not drawn the warblade off his back or made an overtly hostile gestures, Emron guessed it was the former rather than the latter.

"How do you know?" Emron asked sarcastically, "I could be back here to beg fragments from successful acolytes like you are."

"So you did?" Klemral said, "Could you perhaps share some with me? Just one?"

"No, I'm not here to do your trials for you. If you wish to advance as a Sith, do your own tasks yourself," Emron said flatly as he moved to bypass the man. "Besides, given how much Baras looks inside my head, do you really think he won't know what we did?"

"Please! I need…I can't fail this! Please, I'm begging you!" The reek of panic was positively rolling off this fool. It was all Emron could do not to gag in disgust.

"For the last time, no. Now move aside before I remove your ability to do so."

The man was fast, Emron would give him credit for that. Before he could even so much as blink Klemral had whipped the warblade off his back and had it pointed at him. "I'm only going to ask one more time, please share your fragments with me! We could say we worked together! Whatever you think best to say and think, I'll do it!" The desperation was thick in his tone now, mixed in with naked fear and hostility.

"You don't want to be pointing that at me."

"Then you leave me with no choice!"

Letting out a sigh, Emron blasted Klemral backwards with a Force push. He hit the wall hard with a loud snapping noise, then slid to the ground, his neck hanging at an awkward angle.

"Told you not to point that at me," Emron said as he turned to enter Baras' office.


	9. Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Crazed

_Chapter 8: Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Crazed Acolytes_

 **Korriban**

 **The Acolyte**

"And so the prodigal supplicant returns, fragments in hand, for one final test."

These were the words that greeted Emron as he walked into Baras' office, to the sight of Baras standing at the feet of the steps that led to his desk, with Vemrin waiting less-than-patiently to the left.

"You have done exceedingly well, acolyte, and have dashed Vemrin's hopes in the process. He thought he was the only acolyte to have survived the trial. As it stands, only the two of you now remain."

"He may have made it this far, but there's still plenty of time for an accident to occur," Vemrin practically snarled.

"Oh, my apologies my good man, I hadn't known you've been wanting me dead, what with all your interactions with me up to this point being so amazingly polite and helpful. I'll try not to disappoint you next time," Emron said, adopting an incredibly patronizing tone.

"Vemrin is more than a little peeved by the fact that you apparently set a number of acolytes upon him, even if they were relatively untrained," Baras explained.

"Is he?" Emron said, eyebrow arching. "Odd, he certainly had no compunctions about unleashing his own dog on me."

"You'll pay for your actions dearly, fool," Vemrin hissed at him.

Baras was managing to do an impressive job of looking extremely smug beneath his faceless mask. "Such tension between the two of you. I can practically taste the hate roiling in the air," he said, before inhaling deeply and loudly. "Yes, yes, I wonder what it will be like, when your emotions finally boil over and you come to blows. But," and he sounded extremely put out at this, "that is not why I you two are here right now. No, you two are here now because you are both on the very brink of becoming true Sith." Emron found himself unconsciously inching towards Baras as he spoke, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Vemrin was doing the same. "One final task lays before the pair of you, the retrieval of an ancient and custom-made lightsaber. I had once thought you were the one who would succeed in this task Vemrin, but I no longer make the mistake of thinking so."

Emron struggled to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter at the sight of Vemrin's face as he processed that last sentence of Baras'. First his eyes bugged out, followed by his jaw flapping open and shut, looking all the galaxy like a most ridiculous fish. Finally he managed to push out a simple "W-what?" with his voice cracking and reaching very impressive heights for a grown man.

"Did I stutter, acolyte? I believe I did not," Baras snapped, his genteel disposition vanishing faster than the thought of warmth on Hoth. "I also do not believe you are entitled to demand explanations from me."

"B-but my Lord, I have worked so hard, for so long! I _deserve_ this! I have fought, trained, _killed_ for this honor! And you give your favor to him?! He only just arrived the other day, some spoiled brat who's been given everything!"

"My apologies for my friend here," Emron said dryly. "His world seems to have suddenly come crashing down around and upon him. He is not himself, and is thus, most uncharacteristically rude at the moment."

"Vemrin, take your squeaking, and your complaining, and leave, before I kill you myself for being so disgustingly pathetic. Wait in my antechamber for when I call for you, _now_!" Baras growled.

Vemrin turned and shuffled off at a remarkable speed, but not before spearing Emron with a singularly impressive hate-filled glare.

"And that is one of the reasons why I chose you over him," Baras said, turning back to Emron after he had chased Vemrin out with the force of his glare. "You are also stronger in the Force than him, and will only become stronger. There is a power sleeping deep inside you, just waiting to be tapped. And when you do tap it…"

"You honor me with your choice and insight, my Lord," Emron said, bowing slightly at the waist.

"Of course I do, but I wonder, do you understand just how honored you should feel? Should you survive to become my apprentice, then the galaxy will bend before you. You will become one of the most powerful individuals not just in the Empire, but also in the Republic and beyond."

"Then grant me my task, and unleash me upon the galaxy," Emron said with relish.

"You are eager, good. You will be delving deep into the tomb of Naga Sadow for this final trial. Inside the deepest and utmost-forbidden chamber is his final resting place, and within his sarcophagus you will find his most valued possession: his custom-built lightsaber. However, entering this chamber will be no simple task, as it is concealed by an extremely well-hidden set of locking mechanisms. You are in luck, though. Imperial troopers caught a Twi'lek, an impudent little thing, who was attempting to enter the chamber and succeeding. I had them take her to the cells and placed under the supervision of Jailor Knash. I am aware that you two know each other already through a now-deceased mutual acquaintance."

Emron grit his teeth. Knash, now there was a name he had been hoping to not hear again any time soon. Preferably never again, if he had any say in the matter. Still, if he had to…

"Ah, I can tell by your expression that you do know him. Unsavory worm is he not?"

"He talks far too much for his own good, my Lord."

"I find myself hard-pressed to disagree with you, acolyte. However, it is he who you must secure the Twi'lek's release from. Once she is released, take her with you into the tomb and make her open the chamber. How you do so is, of course, entirely up to you."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Oh, and one more thing," Baras said as Emron turned to leave. "I will be sending Vemrin into the tomb after you, and he will know about the Twi'lek as well." Emron was sure there was a wicked smile under that mask. "I expect you will be alert and able to deal with him."

"Yes, my Lord," Emron said one last time, before making his way out of the office and towards the cells.

* * *

Emron glanced around the cells. Nothing remained from his last visit here, the cages had been hauled away, the blood and piss cleaned from the floor. Nothing, that is, except for the one thing that he wished had disappeared.

"Well well, look who it is, I heard you were comin', but I hardly expected you to be here so quick."

"Hello again, Jailor Knash," he replied, his voice full of blatantly obvious faux happiness. He was unsurprised when Knash failed to pick up on it.

"So, I understand you're taking this pain in the neck off my hands," he said while gesturing towards the caged Twi'lek.

"Hey, I'm the one wearing the shock collar, and I'm the pain in the neck?" protested said Twi'lek. _Impudent thing indeed._

Knash did not even bother looking back at her, instead simply raising the shock trigger with his right hand and depressed the button. The Twi'lek fell to the ground writhing.

"I require her to be alive in order to complete my task, Jailor," Emron said as he watched her jerk around the floor of her cage in agony.

"Just getting some last few kicks in while I still can."

"Could we hurry up and do whatever it is that you two are planning on doing?" the Twi'lek said weakly from the floor. "Preferably before he fries my neck to a-" She let out an incomprehensible gurgle and flopped around some more as Knash depressed the button again.

"Enough! I came here for the Twi'lek, not to watch you entertain yourself Jailor! Unless," Emron's voice dropped dangerously low as he leaned into Knash's face, "you plan on explaining to Darth Baras just why his acolytes were unable to complete their Trials."

Knash's eyes expanded to the size of small moons. He quickly shoved the trigger towards Emron, as if he had been told the mechanism suddenly infected its holders with some dread plague or stole all their money. "O-of course not, my Lord! I was just…I mean…" With that, he hurried to unlock the cage, before practically sprinting out of the cells, clearly afraid he would end up making another mistake that would see him with his guts strewn about Baras' office. He disappeared so fast that Emron briefly thought he had been dealing with a compellingly realistic hologram rather than a person, with the term "person" used liberally in this case.

Emron let out a low chuckle as his mind finally caught up with what had just happened, while the Twi'lek pushed herself up off the floor.

"That was impressively quick," she commented.

"Indeed. Jailor Knash seems to be bent on redefining the phrase 'blink and you miss it.' But enough idle chatter, I require your services," Emron said.

"My…services?" She eyed him suspiciously, backing up slightly.

"I require access to the innermost chamber of the tomb of Naga Sadow. A chamber that, according to my understanding, you came close to entering yourself."

"Oh, those services." A slight relaxing of muscles. Odd, what had she meant by that? "I… suppose I can show you around that old tomb. Just a slight manner of manipulating the objects the switches are hidden inside. Did it once after all. Plus it beats hanging around in here."

"Excellent."

"Just one thing though: I'm officially on strike in regards to domestic duties."

"And here I was hoping that I'd finally found someone to clean all the dust I keep finding in these tombs. Oh well. Let's go."

* * *

"Do you have a name?" Emron asked.

"Why do you ask?" said the Twi'lek.

"I can call you Twi'lek if you prefer."

"Fair enough, calling you 'Big Bad Sith Lord' would get awkward after a while I suppose. You can call me Vette, everyone else does. I assume you have some sort of really weird Sithy name?"

"Just Emron, if you please," Oh yes, this experience was promising to prove interesting at the very least. About as interesting and enjoyable as gutting a tuk'ata perhaps. Still, being somewhat respectful tended to be more effective than torturing someone constantly for the same results. Unless one was dealing with a person like Vemrin, or Knash, or an insufferably smug Jedi. Then pain practically becomes a duty.

"So how are you planning on doing this?"

"First I'm going to get you a weapon. Then you're going to open the chamber. Finally I grab the lightsaber I'm after and we get out of there as fast as possible. I've spent enough time in these tombs to not want to go into another."

"Aren't you worried I'll just shoot you and run?"

"There's a reason you'll be leading, and I'll be following."

"Of course."

* * *

Sergeant Tarsil was puzzled. Why had he ever wanted to deny such a reasonable person a blaster pistol? Of course this good man's reasoning made sense, whatever had he been thinking?

"Here you go my Lord. Good luck with your trials."

"Thank you Sergeant, you may resume your duties now," Emron said dismissively. "Here."

Vette cast a critical eye over the pistol before holstering it. "It'll do. What're you expecting inside the tomb?"

"Dark Side energy, living nightmares, gibbering madmen. The usual fare for Sith tombs. Academy rules are waived inside this tomb, so if you see something moving that isn't me, blast it."

"Got it."

"Oh, and my number one fan will be following us. Leave him to me."

"You Sith are weird," Vette said as the pair walked through the entrance of Naga Sadow's tomb.

* * *

The Tomb of Ajunta Pall had been a twisting, winding, expansive underground labyrinth. The Tomb of Marka Ragnos had been a large monument to the glory of the ancient Sith Empire and one of its greatest rulers. The Tomb of Tulak Hord had been partly a fortress, partly a resting place. All had been built similarly in the sense that each were designed to resist intrusions by the unwelcome by their intimidating size and the fearsome names attached to each. While the Tomb of Naga Sadow shared these charming qualities with the other, it added another factor into the equation. An all-consuming permeation by the Dark Side. Walking in with a mind unprepared for the sheer magnitude of the Force energies within was the equivalent of flying a starship directly into a black hole. One second your mind would be there, and the next it would be gone. Perhaps the most powerful Force users would be able to walk into the tomb without fear and see it for what it truly was, but for someone of Emron's skill level, it was a vast and unforgiving pit of malice and terror. It was not made any easier for Emron either by the fact that he also had to shield Vette's mind from this effect too, lest he find himself without a means of opening the burial chamber.

Emron grimaced. He was by no means a master at the art of mental shields, something he knew he desperately needed to train himself in further. His lack of training meant he had to strain himself to shield both of them, and as a result his focus was slipping. He would be slower to respond to any ambushes, and his reactions would be impeded in a fight. The only consolation he had was that Vemrin would suffer from a similar penalty, even if it was less severe than his. His lack of focus was playing havoc on his senses as well, the Dark Side slipping into the cracks and taking all the liberties that it could. Were there really skeletons of acolytes from multiple species scattered all over the floors and heaped in piles in the corners, or was it just an illusion, a trick of the Dark Side to see what it wanted him to see? In places as old and as steeped in evil as this, it was almost impossible to tell reality from the imaginary.

He glanced around, certain he had just seen the shadows taking form and watching them from the deepest crevices in the stone. They had already unlocked two of the mechanisms and Vette was currently working on the third. So far, so good. But Vemrin was out there, somewhere, along with far worse things, and all of them were simply waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The worst part was that he probably would never see them strike, given how the total blackness was wrapping around him like a shroud, obscuring his vision. There were a few torches that burned with a sickly blue flame here and there, breaking up the monotony of darkness occasionally, but not nearly enough for Emron's taste.

"There, got it," Vette said as she pried her hands free from the locking mechanism. Emron heard the device let out an ominous series of clicks, which he had come to associate with the unlocking sequence.

"Just out of curiosity, how did you manage to do all this before? The only reason we haven't gone completely crazy so far is because I'm shielding us, and yet you've done all this once already. And you're clearly no Force user."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she replied dryly. "I actually was using some sort of amulet that blocked all Force energies in an area around it. Really old, supposed to be the only one left, or at least that's what the guy claimed before I stole it out from under his nose."

"What happened to it?"

"Probably in some Sith's collection now, I reckon. Shame. I worked hard to steal that."

"I see. How many more locks?"

"One, it's further in. C'mon."

Emron would never admit it, but the absolute last thing he wanted to do at the moment was go any further into this place. He was sweating from the nervousness, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. His mouth was drier than the dust in the Valley of the Dark Lords. To hell with Baras, to hell with Vemrin, to hell with the trials, he just wanted out right now. But he had no choice. As afraid as he was, he was not about to lose to Vemrin, nor was he about to forfeit his life's dreams and plans because he could not control his fear when he needed to, or his life, period. So, steeling his mind once more, he set off in the gloomy darkness after Vette.

He just hoped he did not end up dribbling down his leg before this was all over.

* * *

They had done it. They had reached the last lock without incident. But Emron knew they needed to hurry up and finish this business quickly before his shields faltered and splintered into a million different pieces. That would prove to be ugly for both him and Vette. More so for him than her, what with him being deeply attuned to the energies that coursed through the walls and artifacts, though neither would leave the tomb alive should he fail.

"And…got it."

There was a deep rumbling further within the tomb as the final lock disengaged, not too far from where they stood.

This was it then, his destiny lay just outside his hands. One final effort and he would be the rightful apprentice to Baras. All he had to do was not trip in the last lap of the race.

"Let's go, we're almost done," Emron said.

"No sign of whoever is supposed to be tailing us…" Vette said as she glanced around nervously.

"He's in here, I know it. It's just a matter of timing."

* * *

A dead end. Or was it?

"Ok, the entrance is here in this chamber, give me a second to get my bearings and I'll have us in," Vette said as she began sizing up the statues of Naga Sadow that stood vigil in the shadowed corners.

"Just hurry it up," Emron said as he watched her. Vemrin was in here. He had to be. All other opportunities to ambush them had been passed up, and to delay now would let Emron lay has hands upon the lightsaber first. Emron guessed that Vemrin would never allow him to do such a thing, even if Baras only cared about who returned with it, rather than who touched it first. Vanity is an odd beast at times.

Sure enough, as he lowered his mental shields as low as he dared to, allowing him to focus more clearly on the almost complete silence that hung over the tomb, he heard it. An almost imperceptible crunch of footsteps on shattered pottery and stone behind him. Had he not been focusing as hard as he could upon listening, he never would have heard it.

The footsteps came closer. Still he waited, feigning obliviousness until the sounds had reached just behind him. Now the footsteps and been joined with the faint humming noise that accompanied an activated warblade. Definitely another acolyte and not some Dark Side horror come to erase him from existence then.

Emron pirouetted on his left heel as he brought his right leg up to strike. There was a satisfying crunching noise as he felt Vemrin's nose crumple beneath the assault, followed by an even more satisfying grunt of pain as he saw Vemrin fall backwards to the ground. He drew and activated his warblade as his foe pushed himself back up.

"Keep getting that door open slave, your fool master will be dead here in a moment," Vemrin growled at Vette, who had come running as soon as she heard sudden movement from Emron, as he wiped blood from his shattered nose. Emron grinned minutely at the sight.

"Really? Well then, I'm right here. Do you plan to act on that threat or are you just going to wait for me to shrivel up and die?" he returned.

Vemrin's eyes narrowed, before he dashed in to strike Emron. Emron easily parried the blow before lashing out with a blow of his own.

A minute passed. Two minutes passed. Moments in time punctuated by a thrust here, a slash there. Blocks, parries, ripostes. Emron slashed low after feinting high, almost catching Vemrin off-guard and nearly taking off one of his legs. Vemrin barely managed to block the strike, but was unable to react to the follow-up cut to his left arm.

Although up until now Emron had been given as good as he gave, Vemrin was beginning to slow and accumulate a number of nicks, scratches, and cuts here and there. This puzzled him. For a man who had climbed his way up to the position of alpha bastard of the Sith Academy, he had expected a harder challenge. Perhaps Vemrin had attained his position through blackmail and intimidation rather than force of arms, perhaps the newcomers had seen him in charge of a rather large clique and had instinctively avoided him rather than risk making moves against him.

 _Not that it matters now_ , Emron through as he smashed the pommel of his warblade into Vemrin's already-ruined nose, _no more shadow games, no lies and intimidation. Just the thrill of the adrenaline rush and the clash of blades._

Two minutes later and the inevitable occurred. Vemrin fumbled a parry and ended up losing his right forearm for his troubles. As he stared in shock at the bloody stump left behind by his opponent's swipe, Emron took the opportunity to bury his warblade through his eye socket all the way up to the hilt, the tip poking out of the other side of the skull. Vemrin's body stood upright for another moment or two, as if taking the time to process its death, before toppling over.

Emron reached down and yanked his weapon out, flicking bits of bone and gray matter off it as he did, before turning to a silent Vette, who had been silently watching the whole fight.

"Now then," he panted, "Shall we continue?"

* * *

It had been a short walk down another corridor and the burial chamber of Naga Sadow was now laid out before them. Rows upon rows of stone statues lined a pathway that led to a raised platform, upon which rested a sarcophagus, flanked by two torches enkindled by ever burning fires. The final resting place of Naga Sadow. It was, all told, an impressive and intimidating sight. One that none had ever laid eyes upon since its completion. Until now.

The weight of the Dark Side was crushingly oppressive in here, and Emron feared his mental shields would break with just the slightest of prods from an outside factor. Best to open the sarcophagus and run as fast as possible.

Emron set off down the gauntlet of impassive stone faces, Vette right behind him, all of them singularly unimpressed by their being among them. They had stood a silent vigil for over a thousand years, and would last another thousand. What was an aspiring acolyte and a slave before them?

That was when he saw them, though it was only the briefest of flickers out the corner of his eye. As if the shadows that clung to everything in the tomb had twitched momentarily. But that was just another illusion, another manifestation of the Dark Side, another attempt to further weaken his shields. Right?

They had reached the casket now. Emron tried to push the lid off but found it sealed fast. Annoyed, and more than a little anxious, he settled for quickly blasting the top off with a Force push. He paid it no mind as it went careening off into the darkness beyond the torchlight, eventually smashing into the back wall. Inside the sarcophagus the skull of Naga Sadow grinned back at him with a handful of teeth. A few musty old rags covered the rest of the remaining bones, and at the foot of the coffin sat the lightsaber he had come to retrieve.

He had just wrapped his hand around the grip when the torches suddenly snuffed out.

Suddenly he realized that the flickering he had been glimpsing since he had entered the tomb were not figments of his imagination. Instead, they were nightmares given form, horrors from the other side come to torment mortals. And they were coming for him.

He grabbed the lightsaber out of the sarcophagus and whipped around as fast as he could, activating it as he spun. Vette barely had time to avoid being sliced in half by the blood red beam of plasma, stumbling backwards with an indignant squawk.

"What was that all about?" she demanded. "And what happened to the light?"

He ignored her, squinting into the darkness in an attempt to discern where the attack he knew was coming from. A useless endeavor, some small and primal part of his mind was screaming at him. He should just run, abandon the slave. Maybe they would go for her and ignore him long enough to escape. The rest of his brain was doing its best to try to silence the rogue sector by shouting about how Sith never ran from their foes. Emron was leaning more towards the former than the latter at this point, but he stood his ground.

There. He could somewhat discern shapes flitting around in the darkness, as if the abominations coming for them were somehow darker than the shadows surrounding them. The temperature inside the tomb, actively chilly beforehand, now dropped to near glacial, as if the figures were absorbing all the heat they came into contact with. _The void given form,_ the tiny part of Emron's mind that was not engaged in a war of words with itself.

Vette saw them too, and nervously drew her pistol. He figured he would have to try to keep her alive as well, given how useful she had proven so far. It was only right, after all, payment for services rendered.

Then the figures rushed them. There were about half a dozen of them, possibly more that he had not seen behind the statues. The first one died easily enough, dissipating as Emron's new lightsaber slashed through its midsection. Three stopped short and began to circle around him, while the other two headed for Vette. She blasted one once with her pistol, then twice, before setting it to fully automatic and unloading the rest of her power pack into the creature. Finally it disappeared, leaving four of its brethren behind.

Two of said brethren charged Emron from opposite directions. Emron responded by rolling to his left, the only angle not covered by a shadow, forcing the pair to come at him dead on. The one that had been rushing his back reached him first, and was cut in twain for its troubles. The second one reached him a heartbeat after and Emron stabbed that one through its chest.

Glancing around, he saw Vette had just finished off her second one and was reloading. Then he realized how stupid he had just been by letting his guard down, moments before he felt an icy chill permeate his right shoulder and travel swiftly upwards towards his mind. The contact shattered his mental shields.

Suddenly all he could see were countless worlds burning, stars being plunged into eternal night, cities filled with drained husks of corpses, and shattered fleets. He saw the destruction of not just the Empire and the Republic, but the entire galaxy itself.

The contact only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity. Emron would have screamed as he was yanked out of his nightmare and back into reality, had the mental assault not drained him of his breath. He collapsed to the ground, the shadow standing triumphant above him, ready to finish him off, when suddenly it was punctured was dozens of beams of light. It vanished with a faint sighing noise, as if disappointed it could not finish the work it had started.

He was vaguely aware of Vette hauling him to his feet. All he knew was that they needed to leave before the demons of the night returned.

"Run," he whispered hoarsely.

And so they did.

* * *

"Wait here," he said to Vette as they stood just outside the entrance to Baras' office, turning towards her slightly. They had made their way back to the Academy in silence, an unspoken agreement passing between the two of them to never discuss what had happened back within the tomb to another soul, not even to each other. Now came the presenting of the lightsaber to Baras, the end of Emron's Sith Trials, and an uncertain future.

"And if I don't?" she asked, the slightest hint of defiance in her tone.

"Well," he replied, turning to face her fully now, pulling out the shock trigger out of his pocket. "The thing about shock collars, you see, is that their transmitters have an impressively long range. And should I return from this meeting to find you not where I left you standing…" He made a show of cranking the voltage setting all the way to the maximum. "I suppose I'll just have to hold down this button here until I get bored."

"Gotcha, won't move a muscle then."

"I thought you'd see things my way," he said as he entered Baras' office.

* * *

Baras stood in the middle of his office, looking as if he had not moved an inch since Emron had left. Emron would not have been surprised one bit if that was the case.

"You to return to me alone, with Naga Sadow's lightsaber in your hand. This truly is your hour of triumph. Revel in it! You have conquered all who opposed you, and proven yourself worthy of being called Sith!"

Emron knelt down before Baras. He could not, for the life of him, explain why he suddenly felt the urge to do so, but it felt right when he did it.

"In this hour I take you as my apprentice, and as the executor of my will. You will help reshape the Empire in ways you never dreamed possible, and reach never before heard heights of power by doing so. Now rise, Sith Apprentice Emron, and claim your destiny!"

"Command me, my master," Emron said as he rose, having regained enough control over his jaw to muster up a single sentence.

"Good," Baras said, as if satisfied that he had effectively stupefied his apprentice. "You recall the shards you recovered from Tulak Hord's tomb, yes? I did not have you and the other acolytes gather them on a whim. They are supposedly pieces of a much larger puzzle regarding the ancient Sith, and there is currently a xenoarcheologist on Vaiken Spacedock who is interested in these shards. You will take the fragments to him, and then make your way to Dromund Kaas. After you have concluded your business, there is a _Gage-_ class transport docked at Vaiken named _Black Talon_ that I will secure you passage on. Board it, and it will take you to Dromund faster than any shuttle."

"Yes, master."

"Speed is of the utmost necessity in this endeavor. There are plans afoot to ruin me, and I need you by my side as fast as you can get there. Do not dawdle."

"I will not fail you, Lord."

"Now go forth, my new apprentice, and carry out my will, but never forget this…" Baras said, before leaning in, his voice dropping. "You are mine now. Body and soul. Every act that you commit, every word that you speak, every thought that you think is laid bare before me. You are my creature now, and you exist only as long as I deign to allow you. Burn this fact into your mind Emron, so that you never forget."

Emron shivered slightly. No, he most certainly would not forget this day, no matter how hard he tried.

 **A/N: And that's that, the end of the Korriban arc. About time. I'm really looking forward to writing the next arc, and I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited!**


	10. To the Stars

_Chapter 9: To the Stars_

 **Vaiken Spacedock**

 **The Slave**

It is odd where life's paths tend to take one. When you settle down into what feels like a predictable, though not necessarily comfortable, routine, reality likes to come along and remind you of its habit of throwing you into an entirely different situation, usually without any sort of warning. Then it is up to the unlucky bastard who has been chosen for such a turnaround in their fortunes to pick up the leftover pieces of their previous life, oftentimes by themselves. Sometimes in the most curious of places. Like here, for example.

 _This is most definitely one of the last places I ever expected to find myself, in the entire galaxy. I've been in some of the scummiest sectors along with some of the creepiest, but the heart of the Imperial Fleet? Yeah, most certainly never crossed my mind._

Such were Vette's thoughts as she made her way through the crowded durasteel-gray passageways that crisscrossed Vaiken Spacedock, snaking between the mobs of off duty sailors and marines in black and red, the lines of stuck up fleet admirals and captains in gray, and making way for the occasional mouse droid that raced through carrying some undoubtedly urgent message, ignoring the leers and glares she received as she did so. She had long since become used to such looks.

As she walked, her mind drifted to her latest master. No, master probably was not the word she was looking for to describe Emron. But friend was also most certainly not the correct term either. Companion or associate would have to do. And what a strange companion he was. He hardly seemed to fit the stereotypical bloodthirsty, saber-crazy mold, though he definitely did not lack when it came to blade work. Compared to the treatment she had received during her capture and confinement back on Korriban, Emron might as well have described himself as a charity worker, given the distinct lack of electroshocks and mostly respectful treatment she had been treated too. A bit snarky on occasion, but given how she normally spoke herself, she hardly had room to complain. Still, she would gladly put up with sarcasm over beatings any day.

She came to a stop after reaching a mostly empty section, wandering over to a viewport that overlooked the cold depths of the void, the eternal blackness punctuated liberally with pinpricks of light and a dozen dreadnoughts and destroyers. A frown crossed her face as she considered just how close to the Imperial-Republic border the station was. Far too close for her liking. Apparently Vaiken had been relocated after the Great Galactic War twenty years ago in order to better supply and refit patrols along the new borders more efficiently, meaning that she and Emron essentially had to backtrack in order to reach their next destination after Emron concluded whatever business he had here.

Emron had made no effort to keep her in the know, which was really to be expected when she thought about it. He had exited his Lord's office with a slightly dazed look, and she suspected if she had really looked she might have seen some minute traces of fear in his eyes. But she had not, and had instead chosen to listen to him explain how they were leaving the planet, going to a spacedock, and then heading to the Imperial homeworld afterwards. Not even a question as to what she had thought of that plan, of course, but still, anywhere else had seemed better than a continued stay on the World of the Sith. After that had come a few days aboard a transport ship that had brought them here. The two of them had been given different cabins, so she had not seen much of Emron during the trip. According to him he had spent most of his time sleeping or meditating, and the few times they had seen each other was when they had passed each other in the hallways or in the mess. She had taken the chance to explore and generally poke her nose into places she was not allowed in, curious about the layout of the ship. After three or four days, she was not sure, it was hard to tell the passage of time in hyperspace, they had docked at the spacedock.

And now here she was, an alien in the midst of a mob of xenophobic humans. Her only comfort was that she no longer had that damnable shock collar on anymore. Its removal had been a surprising moment, and she was not quite sure what had made her even think about asking Emron to remove it in the first place. Just because he had treated her somewhat decently had been no reason for her to ask about removing the thing that was potentially the only object to her running the first chance she saw an opening. But during a quick meal on the spacedock's cantina, she had mustered up the courage to ask if he could remove it, and he, after a quick glance as if to confirm whether or not she really had asked that question, simply shrugged and undid the bolts that applied the pressure that kept the collar in place. He had even given her the shock trigger afterwards to keep. She had been unable to keep her big mouth shut afterwards, and had asked him why he had so freely removed the restraint. He had merely shrugged again, mumbled something about "services rendered," and then stood up from the remains of his meal and announced that he had a quick errand to run before they could leave for Dromund Kaas, unless she wanted to go her own separate way. Then he had turned and left her sitting there to ponder his words, his actions, and her upcoming future.

Of course he had to have known she was going to keep accompanying him. Where else could she go after all? She could not remain in Imperial space on her own, not after she had been caught entering that tomb, and the Republic was not allowing anyone to cross the border, except for maybe some high-ranking defectors. Hutt space was always a possibility, but there were too many angry personages there that she had either stolen from or angered in one way or another for her tastes, and all of them would pay dearly to get their hands on her. So that option was out, at least for now. So she would go with him for now, however reluctantly, and then take him up on his offer when a more opportune moment arose.

She turned upon hearing footsteps approaching her from behind. She almost did not recognize Emron at first. He was no longer the exhausted, strained, dusty, and somewhat-resigned acolyte she had met back on Korriban. Instead there stood a figure clad in armor almost as black as the space she was just looking out upon, polished so thoroughly that she could see her reflection in it. Though the tiredness still peeked out here and there on his face, it was if there was a whole new person standing before her. What a difference some sleep and a few meals did for a person. She briefly wondered how long his armor would last in such a state before trouble found them again, before wondering where he had come across the armor in the first place. So she asked him.

"Apparently Lord Baras doesn't want his new apprentice running around in acolyte garb, so he had me perform a trade for this," Emron said in response to her query. "Not sure what a xenoarcheologist was doing with a suit of Sith armor, but I'm not complaining."

"I suppose you wearing gear 'below your station' or whatever it is you Sith say probably would give the wrong impression huh?" she said. "Are you ready to go now?"

"So you've made up your mind then?"

"Yeah, guess I'll hang around. Someone needs to be there to save you from the nasties after all," she replied with a minute smile. She had no plans on ever letting him live that moment in the tomb down, even if poking fun at a Sith was probably the stupidest thing one could possibly do.

Emron's face screwed up briefly, as if the memory left an incredibly sour taste in his mouth. "I can already tell I'm going to regret this," he muttered.

"So how are we getting to Dromund Kaas?"

"Another transport. This one's called the _Black Talon_. Supposed to be fast. Apparently it cuts across the border a few times to try to conserve some time, so there might be some trouble. Nothing too serious hopefully."

"Rrrrright," she said, dragging the word out. If the brief adventure she had already had with him was any indicator, they would probably end up killing a whole bunch of people before it was all over.

"We could take a shuttle if you prefer. Then when we arrive at Dromund five or six days later than Lord Baras is expecting us to be there, I'll just hide behind you and let you do the talking," he suggested.

"Some fearsome Sith Lord you're turning out to be," she grumbled. "Fine, I'll put up with the transport, but I get to tell you I told you so when we're boarded or something equally dangerous."

Emron simply replied with another one of his shrugs. "Can't say I didn't try," this one seemed to say. Then he turned and began making his way towards the docking berths, leaving Vette trying to catch up.

* * *

"Welcome aboard the _Black Talon_ my Lord," a black-haired woman said, greeting them as they came aboard.

"Thank you Lieutenant…" Emron said unsurely, the rank insignia clear but there was no way to discern the name of the woman.

"Sylas, my Lord. We'll be taking you and your companion to Dromund Kaas, as per Darth Baras' command. Captain Orzik had the punishment for failure laid out very clearly to him when the command came through. All told, this trip should last about five days, which is about a standard week faster than a shuttle my Lord."

"Then let us not waste any more time Lieutenant Sylas."

"Very good my Lord."

 **A/N: Last chapter broke 1k hits! Thanks to everyone who's read the story so far.**

 **Not much to say about this chapter, just a quick bridge chapter to set up the** ** _Black Talon_** **arc that will comprise the next two, maybe, three chapters.**

 **Lord Lelouch: Glad you liked the chapter, I especially enjoyed writing Baras there at the end. As for romance, I don't know. This story'll probably end up being a nomance in all honesty, but I'll keep it in mind.**

 **UltimateTouken: Glad you liked, as for the timeline being rushed future events and planets will take longer, however I wanted Korriban to be one quick burst in terms of time. The plot rather demanded that much, though you don't have to worry about some sort of unrealistic meteoric ascension. As for the expansion I don't know. Like you said, they're quite the ways off, and I don't want to commit to something and then reach it and just say "Fuck it." That and my next story, if I write one, will most likely end up being a Darkest Dungeon one.**


	11. Black Talon, Black Heart

_Chapter 10: Black Talon, Black Heart_

 **The** ** _Black Talon_**

 **The Apprentice**

Since the dawn of the Galactic Republic millennia ago, interstellar travel technology had progressed to amazing heights. Long ago, civilization had been forced to rely upon massive and expensive hyperspace cannons and poorly mapped hyperspace lanes to spread across the stars. This had led to many ships becoming lost for all eternity to the void when even the most infinitesimal error in calculations were made in the case of the latter, and many exploratory vessels being accidently fired into suns, black holes, or the surface of unexpected planetoids in the case of the former. These days the galaxy now enjoyed the benefits of thoroughly explored lanes and fast hyperdrives mounted on every ship, whether it be commercial or private. Yet while the technology to travel farther and faster was ever advancing with each passing year, some things never advanced enough for some people's liking.

After all, Emron mused, one could only meditate upon the Sith Code so many times before boredom began to sink in.

While he logically knew that he should be thankful for the respite that the past few days aboard the _Black Talon_ had provided, along with the opportunities to continue his training, especially in the area where his mental shields were concerned, a Sith always hungered for action. The call to war was in their very nature, with martial traditions often being instilled within prospectives before they could even walk.

He could manage until the arrival on Dromund Kaas, however.

Ship-to-ship combat was far too impersonal, let alone dangerous, for his tastes, with men dying in moments, blown out into the cold abyss by a hull breach caused by massive turbolasers mounted on an enemy vessel thousands of kilometers away, or vaporized within cockpits as their fighters and bombers were destroyed by an opponent they never saw coming, and they were the lucky ones. The unlucky ones were the ones who died a slow death to asphyxiation when the life support systems were destroyed, or were cooked alive whilst performing damage control.

No, he decided, he was happy to leave those brave or foolhardy enough to volunteer for such tasks to their duties and focus on his blade work, vastly preferring the . It was a shame that there was no one aboard the _Talon_ to spar with; he had no desire to become even the slightest bit rusty in his skills and training routines could only do so much. The only souls aboard beside the crew were Vette and himself, and while Imperial Marines were given some rudimentary hand-to-hand training should the need to repel enemy boarders arise, they were no match for a Sith, apprentice or not. He had no idea what level of skill Vette had with a vibroblade, but he was sure that given her inclination towards thievery she was more interested in stealth rather than kicking down doors and slicing enemies into tiny bits, so training with her was out of the question.

Emron let out a small sigh as he turned the lightsaber that he held in his hands over for what was most likely the thousandth time that day. He had no idea why he had allowed the alien to join him on his trip to Dromund Kaas. A small portion of his brain tried to rationalize his act, claiming that the Twi'lek had proven herself useful back in the tomb of Naga Sadow, and that Baras most likely expected him to keep her around. Yet the man had never explicitly stated such, let alone implied it, and now that he had a proper weapon to use instead of an ancient warblade, he doubted he would require a tagalong. At worst she would be a hindrance during a fight, at best another body to put between himself and his foes. Given her lack of military training and patchwork knowledge of fighting, Emron leaned towards the former being the more likely scenario.

Fortunately, it seemed that the Force itself had decided that Emron had suffered in boredom long enough to satiate its fickle whims as the sound of knocking pervaded the cramped room. Reaching out briefly with the Force, he could ascertain that the individual doing the knocking was not Vette coming to pester him again with her endless questions about his time on Korriban.

 _Thank the Force for small miracles,_ he thought and he pushed himself up from his kneeling position on the bare durasteel floor. His cabin was the same as any other crewmember's on the _Talon,_ which was to say, lavishly decorated with a bunk and metal walls. The captain of the ship, one Revinal Orzik, had offered the use of his captain's suite when Emron had come aboard, but he had declined, stating that he was more used to ascetic quarters after so long of Sith training.

Ignoring the ache in his knees caused by hours of meditation, he opened the door to reveal a visibly nervous ensign awaiting him.

"My Lord, your 'droid claims to have a message waiting for your perusal in the conference room," the man stammered out.

"My 'droid?" Emron asked, eyebrow arching.

"Yes, my Lord. We picked it up on Geonosis before our arrival at Vaiken Spacedock," the ensign rushed out, clearly fearing that he had upset the Sith in some fashion and was about to be reduced to an unpleasant stain on the nearest hard surface.

"I see, I shall be along shortly to see what it has to say," Emron said before making a dismissive gesture, to which the shivering man was all too happy to comply with. "Curious," he mumbled as the door hissed shut in front of him.

 _Baras never mentioned a 'droid, let alone a 'droid of my own. And why am I only just now being notified of this? This seems like something that should have been mentioned the moment I set foot on this ship. Another twisting and weaving plot courtesy of Baras, or does someone else have their eyes on me?_

Reopening the door, he set off to find Vette and the conference room, mind racing. Whatever was about to happen, Emron was sure that the last thing it was going to be was boring.

* * *

"So let me get this straight, there's some 'droid claiming to be yours running around this ship, except you have no idea it's yours?"

"Yes." The questions had started before the Twi'lek had even made it out the door of her cabin, and now, with the two of them more than half way to the conference room, they still showed no sign of stopping.

"And now you're dragging me into this?"

"That about sums it up." It was all Emron could do to keep himself from letting out a gust of frustration. _Force, does she never run out of breath? Is there some sort of quirk in Twi'lek biology that I ended up sleeping through in my xenoanatomy lessons back on Ziost?_

"Why, if I may ask?"

"It amuses me, that's why."

"Weirdo."

His response either satisfied her curiosity or the alien was mustering up another round of questions for him, but Emron reveled in the resulting silence all the same, peace once more returning to the oppressively-gray corridors that crisscrossed the _Black Talon._ Apparently the drudgery of the past few days had left Vette just as bored as he had, something that had rapidly manifested in the form of rapid-fire, often inane, inquiries about anything and everything.

Glancing at Vette out of the corner of his eye, however, showed that the Twi'lek had not entirely sedentary, as opposed to him, as a second blaster pistol hung from her hip, a newfound companion to the one he had given her back on Korriban. He was tempted to ask where she had found the weapon, but given the remarkable resemblance it had to standard Imperial-issue side arms combined with the large amounts of scratches where the Imperial insignia would normally be found, Emron figured that such a question would be rather redundant.

This time, he did let out a small sigh of exasperation. _At least she wasn't caught, I suppose. And no one is really going to challenge a Sith over such a small matter. I hope._

Turning the corner into the conference room, the pair saw a protocol 'droid standing in front of a long durasteel table that had a built-in holoprojector device, busily typing into a wrist-mounted 'puter. Emron repressed a slight shiver at the sight. Protocol 'droids became more and more sentient-looking with each generation, and while he supposed there were some benefits in regards to social settings, he still found the whole thing faintly disturbing.

"And who might you be?" he asked as he walked up to the 'droid.

The 'droid swung its head up to look at him, eyes glowing an ominous yellow as the optics within zoomed in to take in Emron's figure.

"Identity confirmed," the 'droid spoke in a monotone voice that carried faint undertones of amusement, as if its logic capacitators were privy to a joke that the rest of the world was ignorant to. "Greetings, my Lord. I am Imperial protocol 'droid NR-02. My primary functions are diplomacy, translation, manslaughter, and calumniation. It is my pleasure to meet you."

Emron smiled internally, making sure to keep his face carefully neutral. _I wonder how many times those four functions have coincided with each other._

"I have an urgent message from my master at Imperial High Command. Please grant him all the attention you would any loyal servant of the Empire."

With that, the holoprojector crackled to life, portraying a scarred figure Emron never thought he would have the privilege of seeing, never mind speaking to.

"Grand Moff Kilran," Emron breathed out. _What could the infamous 'Butcher of Coruscant' possibly want from me, out here in the middle of nowhere?_

"Yes, that is what I am usually called, among many other things, some of which are unrepeatable in respectable company," came the response. Kilran spoke in crisp, cultured tones that spoke of centuries of old nobility, wealth, and careful breeding. A fitting match for the freshly-pressed gray Moff's uniform that the man wore, tastefully decorated with a few medals. The uniform and closely cropped hair only served to accentuate the heavily scarred side of his face. "And you are Darth Baras' newest apprentice, if my intelligence is correct. It is correct, yes?"

"Indeed, Grand Moff."

"Good, I would hardly wish to ask such a delicate favor from the wrong individual."

 _Favor? What in the name of the Force have I found myself in now?_ "Grand Moff?" he asked.

"I need someone who can procure an individual of great value to the Empire, and you are the most capable person that NR-02 was able to find on such short notice. You see, two days ago Republic warships illegally trespassed into Imperial-held space and retrieved the individual in question. Scans taken during the ensuing skirmish show that the ship carrying the passenger suffered damage to its hyperdrive. Not enough to prevent it from making an emergency jump, mind you, but enough to keep the ship from making it back to Republic space. Now it has dropped out of hyperspace to enact repairs, leaving itself vulnerable."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Emron asked with a sinking feeling in his gut. _Looks like there will be some excitement after all. Just not the kind I prefer._

"I contacted the captain of the _Talon_ just now, seeing how his ship is the only one capable of intercepting the Republic warship before it completes the needed repairs and escapes our grasp," Kilran explained. "Unfortunately, all other available ships are tied down interdicting Republic reinforcements. Captain Orzik, however, declined to fulfill the task set before him, stating that the _Talon_ would be incapable of completing the role."

"Allow me to guess, you need me to set him straight in his priorities?"

"Exactly."

"Alert," NR-02's head swung around to face the doorway of the conference room, "Captain Orzik has just placed the ship under full lockdown, and is refusing all of my attempts at communication."

 _Lockdown, hm? No doubt the good Captain anticipated Kilran contacting me, and is attempting to prevent me from doing anything rash with the threat of lethal force._

"Well, that seems to settle it then. Can I count on you to do your duty to the Empire, Sith?" Kilran asked.

 _Not much of a choice, now is there?_ Emron thought. _Looks like Baras is going to have to wait, though I highly doubt he'll be happy, let alone understanding, in the slightest about this delay._

"You can count on it," he assured the Moff.

"Excellent. NR-02 will assist you in this task and will keep me updated. Good hunting." With that, the image cut off.

"You sure know how to have a good time, don't you?" Vette asked.

"Let's just get this over with," Emron returned.

"I have imbedded myself into the security systems of the ship, and will be able to make our passage to the bridge much smoother. Please follow me," NR-02 said as it shuffled out of the room.

With one last glance at the holoprojector, Emron walked out after the 'droid, Vette right behind him.

* * *

"What can you tell me about this Republic warship that we're supposed to be intercepting?" Emron asked NR-02 as the trio hurried down a long corridor. The 'droid had proven its worth multiple times over by suppressing alarms, opening sealed bulkheads, and redirecting security teams that attempted to intercept them. Emron was grateful for that, the last thing he was keen on doing was slaughtering loyal Imperial soldiers who were unaware of the situation at hand.

 _Force knows we have enough odds stacked against us, no need to tip them even more in favor of the Republic by killing all the marines._

The 'droid never took its optics off the wrist 'puter as it answered him, "The Republic ship has been identified as the _Brentaal Star,_ a _Thranta_ -class corvette. Telemetry received from defending Imperial ships indicated it sustained a series of blows to its engines, hyperdrive, and primary armaments during the battle, in addition to losing almost a quarter of its starfighter compliment. I estimate our chances of success to be around 68.9264%."

 _Not as bad as I initially feared then, if the damage was so extensive. Still, the_ Talon _is only a transport, not a warship._

"And the _Talon_ 's capabilities?" he pressed. He needed to know, if only to reassure himself.

"Five turbolasers, eight Mark VI _Supremacy_ -class starfighters, and two assault shuttles."

 _So much for reassurance_ , he thought as they turned the corner to another corridor. _Still, their munitions should be mostly expended thanks to the prior engagement, and Imperial fighter pilots have always been better than their Republic counterparts. We have the advantage, small as it is._

"Alert," NR-02 said as it drew itself to a sudden halt. Vette let out a short curse as she barely stopped herself from crashing into the 'droid. "There is a security team defending the entrance to the bridge, and they will not leave their posts without express permission from the Captain himself. His holo codes are heavily encrypted, and the time required to decrypt them would negatively affect our chances at intercepting the _Star._ Engagement is necessary."

 _Or you just want the chance to blow away a few organics. Fek, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this,_ Emron thought as he pulled his lightsaber off his belt. He noticed Vette doing the same with her blasters out of the corner of his eye, but it was the device that had emerged from NR-02's left forearm that grabbed his attention.

It looked as if someone with far too much time on their hands had set a mad doctor's torture device, a flamethrower, and a blaster side-by-side, and then decided that the only way to pass said time was to strap them all together into one weapon. Needles haphazardly sprouted here and there, occasionally dripping with an ominously glowing green sludge. A tiny pilot flame burned underneath them, creating a foul stench whenever a droplet of ooze fell into it, and two barrels ran parallel down the device, flanking the sides of the contraption.

Most likely the device was a means to bringing down whoever or whatever Kilran fancied at the moment, an all-in-one contraption capable of delivering a subject in alive, wounded, or in a tiny vial. Whichever option suited Kilran's mood at the moment Emron supposed.

"Try and keep them alive," he ordered.

If NR-02 had been capable of it, the 'droid would have been speeding a very disappointed glare his way. "If you are concerned about unnecessary casualties, I assure you that the loss of the personnel opposing us will have only a marginally negative impact on our chances of success."

"Not my point 'droid, shoot to kill only when necessary."

"Very well." There was a faint hissing noise as the pilot light extinguished itself and the needles retracted. A clicking noise alerted him to Vette setting her pistols to their stun setting.

"Alright then," he thumbed the activation stud on his lightsaber, relishing the sound of the characteristic _snap-hiss_ as its blood red blade extended outwards from the ornate hilt. "Let's hurry up and push through these men. Force knows we're on a tight enough timetable as is."

A quick extension of his senses through the Force informed him of seven marines idling around by the entrance to the bridge. Perhaps they had not been expecting anyone to make it as far as Emron had, but seven quickly became five when Emron dashed from the corridor and blasted two of them backwards with a Force push, sending their unconscious bodies clattering to the ground. The remaining men barely had time to react before Vette rounded the corner and dropped another one with a hail of stun rounds.

"Shoot! Shoot! Bring them down!" screamed a marine, all discipline seemingly forgotten in the shock of a sudden Sith attack. A quick glance by Emron identified him as a sergeant.

The man's panicked orders abruptly came to a halt as NR-02 chose that moment to join in on the chaos, forearm blasters pumping out shot after shot.

 _Three left, this is going better than expected._

One of the soldiers unhooked a detonator from his belt and hefted it Emron while his comrades opened fire on Vette and NR-02, driving them back into cover behind the corner. A quick flick of his wrist turned the highly explosive sphere into two smoldering halves as his lightsaber passed through it.

Emron gave his opponent no more chances as he charged forward. The marine swore profusely and tried to bring his rifle to bear at the Sith careening towards him, but his curses were cut short as Emron slammed the hilt of his lightsaber into his face, the impact denting the man's helmet slightly. The apprentice grinned slightly at the sight of the man dropping to the ground like a stone, before two shots slammed into his exposed back. He whipped back around to face the remaining two soldiers, bringing his lightsaber to bear. The pain that flared up all along his back in response to the motion reminded him all too clearly that if he had not been wearing his armor, his body would have joined the others on the durasteel floor.

 _Idiot! Fekking Force-damned idiot! Pay attention to the fight, feel good about yourself after!_

A vicious snarl was all that preceded his advance as he launched himself at the soldier who had shot him. Unlike the previous one, this marine calmly stood his ground and pumped off bolt after bolt towards the oncoming Sith. A crimson volley fired off by his comrade contributed to the hail of blaster fire that forced Emron to stop and focus on deflecting, even driving him back a step.

The stalemate continued for another couple of seconds before Vette and NR-02 popped back around the corner, no longer suppressed due to the marines focusing solely on Emron, and unloaded into the first marine's back, unaware that they were mirroring the man's own tactics. Emron wanted to appreciate the irony of the moment, but refused to allow his concentration to slip again. The last marine standing threw his arms up into the air in a gesture of surrender, and Emron reached into his mind with the Force and drove him into unconsciousness.

NR-02 quickly approached him, with Vette trailing behind. "Quickly, we must obtain control of the bridge. Time is running short."

"Yeah, you've told me that already," Emron grunted, shifting his shoulders somewhat to alleviate the pain snaking its way through his back. "Let's get this over with."

NR-02 tromped past, though Vette lingered for a moment. "You ok?" she asked.

"Fine," he said. _Nothing a quick kolto patch can't fix up, but then, a Sith can hardly admit to any weakness out loud._

Vette gave him a slightly dubious look before jogging to catch up with NR-02, leaving him to exhale slightly in an effort to relieve some of the pain before turning to follow.

* * *

"Captain Orzik, I presume?" Emron asked the back of the lone individual who had not stopped and stared at the group that had barged its way onto the bridge.

"Yes, that is me," said the man as he turned and faced Emron.

The first thing to grab Emron's attention about the man was the medals that adorned his chest. Numerous commendations and awards for valor were lined up neatly, proclaiming for all to see that here was a man who had led others into some of the worst battles of the Great War and had done so with no fear in his heart. Emron had taken the liberty of digging into the Captain's service record when he had been on Vaiken, and had discovered that the man had served with distinction at Hoth, Corellia, and a half dozen other battles. An impressive tally by any measure.

The second was the resigned expression upon the man's face. Emron had expected some sort of defiance from a man brave, or foolish, enough to openly defy a Grand Moff, but Emron's appearance here on the bridge seemed to have taken all the fight out of Orzik. Worrying, considering how Emron planned on using the Captain to help even the odds stacked against them in the upcoming battle. Hopefully the man had not lost all of his fire.

"I'm sure you understand why I am here, Captain," he began.

"Indeed."

"Care to explain as to why you saw fit to disobey a direct order then?"

Orzik sighed, "Kilran ordered me to pursue the _Brentaal Star_ and capture an unspecified high value target, as I'm sure you are aware my Lord. However, despite the _Talon_ being up gunned when compared to other Imperial transports, it still stands no chance against a proper warship. For the sake of my men, I refused and continued course to Dromund Kaas. I accept full responsibility for the consequences of my actions, and ask only that you spare the men and women under my command."

 _This is going better than I had hoped for, at least._ Emron cleared his throat before continuing, "Captain, make no mistake, there will be a reckoning for your actions. However, for now I require your assistance. I'm aware of your skills, and without them we will most likely not succeed in this endeavor."

"What do you need me to do, Lord?" Orzik asked, a curious expression on his face.

Emron had no idea as to go about this, having had no time to actually plan how they would take the fight to the Republic. All his attention had been focused upon seizing the _Talon_ with a minimum of bloodshed, and now having accomplished that, proceeded to draw blanks.

"I was hoping you could help me in that regard, Captain," he admitted. "I have no experience commanding a spaceship, as compared to your years. I will, however, need some of your best men to accompany me on a boarding action in order to secure the target. You will be in command of the ship and will be able to do as you see fit while the battle is taking place, short of retreat of course."

"Of course. I believe I can keep the ship intact long enough for you to grab the target, provided you do not take too long. I'll alert two squads of marines to prepare for boarding and have them meet you down in the hangar."

"Then let us not waste any more time," NR-02 interjected. "The _Star_ has already had too much time to repair itself, and any longer may render all of this irrelevant."

"As much as I hate to admit it, the 'droid is right," the Captain said with a sideways glare. "Ensign, bring us out of hyperspace and initiate course correction in accordance with the coordinates being uploaded to your terminal now."

"Aye-aye Captain," answered a clearly frightened young woman.

"Are you ready my Lord?" Orzik asked as he turned back to face Emron. The ship shuddered beneath their feet as the crew began to perform the necessary calculations for another hyperspace jump, none willing to risk displeasing a Sith or their captain.

A smile rippled across his face, "As I'll ever be."


	12. Black Talon, Black Heart II

_Chapter 11: Black Talon, Black Heart II_

 **The** ** _Black Talon_**

 **The Apprentice**

The iron gray durasteel that made up the flooring on the _Black Talon_ 's bridge shuddered beneath the pounding of multiple feet as nervous technicians scurried about, rushing to and from their stations as they completed the last second calculations necessary to exit hyperspace. Even the tiniest of errors would see them reverting to realspace as a rapidly expanding nova of flame and debris rather than an intact ship, so the crew had mostly shut out the presence of the Sith apprentice that had only a few hours ago essentially hijacked their ship, sending them on what would most likely prove to be a suicide mission against a Republic warship.

 _Just another day in the Empire, no doubt._

Said Sith apprentice was alternating between sweeping his gaze across the crew, keeping them from having any second thoughts about the matter at hand, and fighting to hold back the rising tide of worry he himself was experiencing. Pre-combat jitters were nothing new, having had to fight for his life ever since he had been sent to Ziost, but they never dimmed when confronted with familiarity. The constant thought that this would be his first engagement against Republic forces certainly was not helping matters.

"Are you ok?" came a voice to his left.

To his credit, he was able to control the sudden urge to leap into the air and babble out completely unconvincing denials that would ruin the calm aura he was attempting to project. For the sake of the crew, of course. It would not do to have them come down with a case of mass hysteria, now would it?

 _Keep telling yourself that Emron. Maybe it'll help you forget that your heart can't possibly pound any faster right now._

"Fine," he responded curtly as he turned to look at the Twi'lek who had asked the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been fidgeting for the past couple of minutes?" Vette asked with an innocent tone.

Emron suddenly became acutely aware of every tiny movement his body was making. Quickly bringing himself under control, he shot her a dirty glare. "Just anxious to get into the fight is all," he lied.

Vette, of course, saw right through it. "Sure you are," she replied, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable. "Or, you could be, you know, sca-."

"My Lord," Captain Orzik interrupted the pair, ignorant of the conversation at hand. Emron fought to bring his hostility back down to a level more in line with what Sith Lords maintained rather than psychopathic murderers.

 _Even if the galaxy often has trouble distinguishing between the two_ , he thought as he unclenched fists with some effort. _Probably because there often isn't a difference._ He had no idea what would have happened had Vette finished that sentence. He did not want to find out.

He would never admit it, not even to himself, but she was correct. However, the last thing any sane sentient did was accuse a Sith of cowardice. Accusations of cowardice often ended up being death sentences for the accused, so naturally Sith took appropriate measures to suppress such claims. Usually by introducing the indicter to the business end of a lightsaber or three.

"Yes, Captain?" he responded once he was certain he could keep the last vestiges of fear and anger out of his voice. He turned his head from the flinching Twi'lek to see the Captain wearing a carefully neutral expression on his face.

"We'll be exiting hyperspace in approximately four minutes Lord. I thought you might want some time to join the boarding teams down in the starboard hangar now." The man's eyes never left his, not even to blink.

"Thank you Captain." He turned back to spear Vette with a glare. "Let's go."

Without a backwards glance to see if she followed him, Emron stalked off the bridge towards the elevator that would take them down to the hangar. He needed something to kill now.

* * *

The _Black Talon_ shuddered and jerked beneath their feet momentarily, signaling their return to realspace. Klaxons began to wail as damage control teams rushed around them to their preassigned stations, ready to beat down any fires that would inevitably break out when the hull took damage. Further vibrations indicated that the _Talon_ was accelerating to weapons range.

They had just about reached the entrance to the hangar, Emron placing the armored helmet he had had a 'droid retrieve from his room over his head. He had yet to wear the thing, preferring the increased peripheral view afford by going helmetless, but since the risk of taking an unseen blaster bolt to the head increased proportionately during boarding actions, so he had opted to wear it now.

He had just placed it on and synced it up with the rest of his armor when the built in comm unit crackled to life. " _My Lord?"_

"Yes?" he replied. What could the Captain want now? It was far too late to be developing cold feet.

 _"_ _We're receiving a long-range transmission. Republic frequency."_

"The _Star_?" he asked as he and Vette walked into the hangar, just in time to see the jet black-suited Imperial pilots scramble to board their Mark VI interceptors, performing last-minute checks as they did so. Astromech 'droids scurried about underfoot, finishing launch preparations, while the control room buzzed with activity.

 _"_ _No Lord, we're unsure as to who it might be."_

"Then answer long enough to tell whoever it is to go frack themselves and then get on with it," he sighed. Hopefully Captain Orzik could make decisions for himself when the turbolasers were blazing.

 _"_ _As you command, my Lord."_

 _"_ _Alert,"_ the mechanical tones of NR-02 broke into the conversation, _"Republic reinforcements consisting of four cruisers and seven corvettes have destroyed the interdictor accompanying the Imperial blockade force and have made the jump to hyperspace. Estimated time to arrival is approximately thirty minutes."_

"We'll be gone before then," he said as he finally sighted the two heavily armed and armored assault shuttles that were to ferry the boarding team over to the _Star_ sitting in the far corner of the hangar. Twenty-six men snapped to attention as Emron made his way over to them.

"Karking hells, thems what we're gonna be babysitting?" one of them muttered.

"Sith and an alien? Not often you see somethin' like that together," another said.

"Shut it privates," another snapped, clearly the officer in charge of them. "We do our jobs and we keep our mouths shut. Now get your gear in the shuttles and get ready to move out, you all know the drill."

"I take it you're the one in charge here," Emron said as he came to a halt in front of the man, ignoring the less-than-enthusiastic groans and mutterings that broke out as men shuffled to finish stowing extra power packs and heavy weapons aboard.

"Aye, my Lord, that's me. First Lieutenant Traxel, Sigma platoon leader, 396th Marine Battalion. This here," a quick gesture to the man beside him, "is Sergeant Zemis, my 2IC for this mission."

"Lieutenant, Sergeant," Emron said, giving each a respectful nod. "You already know what we're after I assume?"

"Yes Lord, defecting VIP from what the Captain told us," Traxel replied. "We'll be splitting Sigma into two parts, Alpha and Beta squads. I'll be leading Alpha and accompanying you to secure the target, while the Sergeant here takes Beta and holds the LZ."

"Good," Emron said, glad that for the first time since he had been dragooned into this whole mess, someone had an idea as to what they were supposed to be doing _. Leave it to the enlisted and the junior officers I suppose._

"Oh, and before I forget-" Traxel broke off as he unclipped a compact device off of his belt. "Here Lord. I think you'll find this coming in handy over there."

Emron eyed the apparatus. It looked like a personal shield generator usually found on battle 'droids or elite commandos, but smaller and less powerful. "What's this?" he asked.

"Mark nine shield generator sir. Doesn't require a connection to an external power source, so it only holds a few charges. We started getting those a couple of months ago, and the guys who find themselves first down the ramp haven't stopped singing the praises of whoever came up with it ever since. Saved my life more than once as well."

Emron attached the generator onto his belt. "My thanks Lieutenant. I'm sure I'll find a good use for it."

Any further discussion between the three of them was abruptly cut off by shuddering beneath their feet, indicating that the Captain had given the order to open fire. As soon as the first shakes died down, the screaming roar produced by the engines of the Mark VI interceptors filled every inch of the room as they blasted out of the hangar and into the void. Emron was thankful his helmet automatically filtered noise that exceeded a set threshold, though he gave a sympathetic wince at seeing Vette clutch at what passed for ears amongst her species in agony.

"I do believe that's our cue," Emron stated as he motioned Vette to board the nearest shuttle.

Still holding her head, Vette stumbled past him and up the ramp, the Lieutenant following her. Zemis gave Emron one last salute and headed for the other shuttle.

A quick glance out of the hangar revealed Imperial and Republic starfighters dancing around each other and in-between massive green and red turbolasers as the _Black Talon_ and the _Brentaal Star_ slugged it out in knife fighting range. Massive craters had been blasted out of the Republic warship's once-pristine hull, most of the scars from the previous battle, but some of them were glowing red, proof that the _Talon_ was giving just as good, if not better, than she received.

 _Heartening, yes, but will it be enough?_ Emron wondered as he entered the hold of the shuttle and took a seat.

As the ramp closed shut with a loud bang, he could only think of one response to that.

 _Guess it'll have to be._

* * *

The flight over to the _Star_ had been anything but easy. That was to be expected, of course, given how they were flying through a warzone, a warzone filled with hostile starfighters, bombers, and point defense weaponry. Emron was certain that had they all not been wearing their crash webbing, then more than a few necks would have ended up broken due to the wild evasive maneuvers that had been pulled off by the pilot.

"Alright men, we're thirty seconds to touchdown!" Lieutenant Traxel shouted over the din caused by the shuttle's engines, his figure backlit by the emergency light that bathed the hold in a deep crimson. "You all know the drill! Pilot's gonna sweep the hangar with the big guns and then everyone out! Swensil, I want you and that cannon to be the first ones out!"

Traxel was clearly in his element now. Any lingering doubts Emron might have had about their chances of success were quieted in the face of the man's cool professionalism.

 _The Marines are supposed to be the best, after all._

Emron could barely make out Vette's face as she sat across from him, but he could tell she was nervous. No, beyond something as simple as nervousness. His senses were in danger of being overwhelmed by the amount of fear she was projecting into the Force. He motioned with his hands to gain her attention, then gave her a thumbs up in an attempt at reassuring her. The faint smile that he could not quite make out but was sure was there was enough to let him know he had succeeded.

 _Poor girl, she hardly signed up for something like this back at the Academy._

"Ten seconds!" Traxel roared as the shuttle shook and vibrated under the enormous recoil produced by the heavy blaster cannons mounted on the prow. Faint screams and explosions could be heard over the dim, proof positive that the Republic defensive positions had been softened up for the Marines' deployment. Satisfied with the grim toll he had reaped, the pilot swiveled the shuttle and touched down on the hangar floor.

"Go! Out, out, OUT!" came the shouted command as everyone quickly unbuckled themselves from their crash webbing and followed a giant of a marine who was swinging around a repeater cannon like it weighed nothing out. Heavy _thumps_ customary of such weapons firing resounded in Emron's ringing eardrums as Swensil laid down suppressive fire on the remaining Republic positions for all he was worth.

Once free from the shuttle hold, Emron quickly dived behind the nearest conveniently-placed stack of crates, Vette right beside him, and risked a survey of the hangar. On the other side of the room he could see Zemis and his men piling out of their shuttle and setting up heavy weapons faster than should have been humanly possible.

 _Determination to survive is a great motivator amongst men,_ he thought as he ducked behind his crates to avoid a barrage of blaster fire. _Speaking of which…._

Despite the pounding they had just taken from the two Imperial shuttles, the Republic defenders currently raining bolts down upon them clearly had no intention of leaving their positions any time soon. Though there were comparatively few of them remaining, with the rest of their comrades unmoving on the floor in slowly-expanding crimson pools, the space between them and the Imperials was wide-open, turning the firefight into a stalemate. Red and green bolts flew through the air, so heavily in some areas that Emron was sure that if he tried he could have walked on them. The marines could not move up without completely exposing themselves, and the defenders could not do anything to dig their enemies out of their positions.

Emron swore. Viciously and profusely. Vette stared at him in shock as the words spilled from his lips, but he ignored her. He was useless here, and each passing second was something he was acutely aware of. If the Republic keep them pinned down long enough, they would have no choice but to pull back to the _Talon_ and hope the Grand Moff was feeling especially indulgent today.

 _Something I doubt he ever feels,_ he thought as he searched desperately for any ways forward. _Fracking dammit all!_

He could see Traxel yelling orders into his helmet comms, the blaster fire from the Imperial side of the room shifting every time he did. No matter what he tried though, nothing seemed to be working. They were stuck.

Salvation came from on high as the two shuttles suddenly took off and began blasting the Republic troopers again. Explosions and screams erupted from the Republic side of the hangar as men and equipment alike disappeared in blooms of rapidly expanding fire.

As the last rounds connected and the Republic defenders were still trying to regain their senses, Emron gathered the Force to him, drawing his lightsaber and thumbing the activation stud as he did, and leapt forward over the crates.

He cleared half the distance before slamming back down to the ground. Bunching his legs beneath him in one smooth motion, he sprinted towards the rapidly recovering enemy and leaped over the barricade separating them from him.

The next few seconds were lost to him in a haze of red and screams. He could vaguely make out men desperately attempting to put some distance between him and them, hoping they could coordinate fire and take down the monster in their midst. Others threw down their weapons and tried to surrender. It mattered not what they tried, for when he finally regained his senses the only living being around was him.

He could hear the footsteps of Lieutenant Traxel and his men cautiously approaching him, unsure whether he was still in the grip of his battle lust or not. Murmurs of awe interspersed the underlying aura of fear that radiated off of all them.

 _Not that I blame them,_ he thought while his eyes surveyed the scattered limbs and mutilated bodies around him. _I just killed twelve men in seven seconds, if my helmet chronometer is correct. I'm a little frightened myself._

"My Lord, you good?" he could hear Traxel asking him.

He roused himself from his stupor. No time for reflection now, not when they had a VIP to secure. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. How are your men Lieutenant?"

"One dead, couple of wounds. We're still ready for more, and Sergeant Zemis is setting up the rest of the defenses now."

"Good, we should keep moving before they-"

 _"_ _Alert, all hands,"_ a male voice blared over a loudspeaker, _"Imperial forces have boarded. Response teams five and twelve to the starboard hangar. Damage control teams to sector eight."_

"-do that." Emron finished with a sigh.

Traxel waved his men towards the exit hallway. "Our best bet now would be capturing the security center Lord, we can monitor their movements and keep the target from reaching the escape pods from there."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's move."

* * *

The Imperial advance was swift yet methodical, something that would not have been possible had it not been for the stalwart professionalism of the marines. Republic attempts to flank them through access and maintenance tunnels were pushed back, while the narrow corridors and cramped battle stations left the defenders vulnerable to Emron's lightsaber. Still, Emron was becoming steadily antsier. At the rate at which they were pushing onwards they had more than enough time to grab the VIP and leave, but one stubborn defense too many and they were all as good as dead.

"Lieutenant, how much farther to that security room?" he shouted as he sliced a Republic battle 'droid in half, lightsaber burning through its durasteel frame as if it were nothing.

"Should be the next room!" came the tense reply as viridian blaster bolts erupted from the man's rifle barrel, felling a Republic trooper lining up a shot at the Sith. "Someone get a thermal on that position!"

A small sphere soared over Emron's head and landed in the midst of a particularly tenacious knot of enemies that were ducking behind a pair consoles, forcing them to dive for whatever cover was available nearby. The momentary slackening in return fire allowed a pair of marines to flank and neutralize the survivors with efficiency.

"For the Republic!" came a cry that reached them right before a barrage of grenades showered down on their comrades' positions. The resulting explosions forced the rest of soldiers back into cover, and the now exposed marines were quickly cut down.

Emron was seething. He could see the smug look on the leader of the enemy reinforcements that had just shown up, a heavily scarred Mon Cal of all beings. Adorned in heavily modified orange and white special operations armor and sporting a high-powered blaster pistol, the alien commander seemed to be gunning for him especially.

"Men, get these pieces of filth off of my ship!" the Mon Cal roared. "Leave the Sith to me!"

Emron knew he had to do something before any more Imperials died. So he acted. Propelling himself out of his cover and towards the enemy's captain as he halted atop a raised platform, Emron prepared to decapitate the alien in one smooth motion….

…Only to have to force himself to come up short as the Mon Cal simply laughed at his motion and motioned for one of his men to bring a flamethrower to bear. The heat of the weapon drove him back and on the defensive.

"You think I've never fought Sith before meat? You think I don't know how your kind fights?! I killed over a dozen of you in the Great War! Kept their lightsabers as trophies! And once your corpse hits the floor, yours will be joining theirs!"

He could not respond, too focused on deflecting the bolts that punctuated the man's words. The soldier with the flamethrower kept him from advancing and killing the commander, and the Imperials were too busy being pinned down to help. Emron attempted to reflect some of the bolts back at the Mon Cal, but gave up on that idea when a shield generator popped up around his enemy.

This state of helplessness only grew steadily direr as a number of Republic troopers, clearly bored of blasting parts of their ship's architecture to bits, decided to join in on the fun. In desperation, Emron activated his own generator, buying him a moment to breathe and plan.

 _Can't back up, only a wall behind me. Can't go sideways, clever bastard has that flamethrower positioned at just the right angle. Can't go forward. Fek, now what?_

As if in response to his mental questioning, a series of shots sped out from the Imperial side of the room and impacted perfectly upon the tank of flamethrower fuel. One pierced the armor protecting it, igniting the fuel and engulfing the trooper wearing it and one of his comrades in flames. As the air in the room quickly became heavy with the stench of charred flesh, Emron risked a glance at who had made such a lucky shot. To his surprise, he saw Vette peeking around her cover and giving him a thumbs up, just like he had given her earlier.

 _I believe I owe her whatever she wants for that._

As the Mon Cal swore in shock at the sight of his Sith repellant exploding, Emron surged forward and removed the alien's head with surgical precision. Disbelief was written all over the severed limb as it bounced across the floor. The remaining Republic troopers, disheartened by the death of their leader, quickly fell back.

Emron took the opportunity to double over as nerves finally kicked in fully.

"My Lord, are you alright? Do you require medical assistance?" Traxel asked as he came forward.

"I'm fine, just somewhat tired is all," he lied, trying to calm his shaking arms and legs. "That was one hell of a shot by the way," he added, hoping to deflect attention from him and towards Vette.

"Oh, that? That was nothing, wait 'till you see my really fancy tricks," she replied, all false modesty. Emron could tell she was embarrassed by the praise though.

"Well that 'nothing' just allowed us to capture the security center without any more losses," Traxel said. "Pahcil, get Quensin and Bahrum's holotags for me will you? Thanks."

"Sorry about your men," Emron said, straightening up.

"They knew the risks they took," Traxel said as he pocketed the holotags. "I'll put them both in for commendations when we get back to Dromund Kaas."

"They deserve it."

"C'mon, security room is right through that door."

* * *

 _"_ _Grand Moff Kilran is requesting a status report,"_ NR-02's hologram said as it sprang forth from the security console, only to be replaced by the unsmiling face of the Grand Moff a heartbeat later.

 _I don't think I've ever heard the word 'request' ever used as a death threat, a command, and a polite entreaty simultaneously before. I'm sure some time around Baras will make it a regular occurrence though._

The security room had been oddly abandoned when the Imperial forces had breached the bulkhead keeping them out. Perhaps the retreat of the Republic troopers from earlier had demoralized whomever had thought about making a last stand in here. Maybe they were preparing an ambush up ahead.

 _We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, now focus._

"We've secured the security room with minimal casualties and have located the VIP. He's currently making his way to the portside escape pods," Emron stated as he eyed an Imperial technician hacking into the Republic security system.

 _"_ _I'm sure it is unnecessary to remind you that denying the Republic the information in his head is our top priority here, no matter the cost."_

"It is."

 _"_ _Good, then I am also sure it is unnecessary to remind you of what will happen should you fail in this."_

Emron swallowed before he realized he had let his nervousness show. Kilran missed nothing, the tiniest of smiles now adorning his face.

"It is."

 _"_ _Good, good. You're making remarkable progress, sterling really. I'm so glad someone as competent as you volunteered to help me in this affair. I'm looking forward to news of your success."_ With that, Kilran's hologram blinked out as the comm line shut down.

"He scares me," Vette said from behind him.

"He scares me, and I've been in dozens of firefights," Traxel added from where he was overseeing his weary marines. He and Emron had both agreed that the men deserved a quick breather before they began their next push while Emron reported their success so far, though clearly he had not chosen to join them. "Jouril, any luck getting into their system?"

"Almost sir," replied the technician. "Give me a few more moments and…got it! I have access to their comms sir."

"And?"

"They apparently have something big waiting for us up ahead."

"Can we go around?" Emron interjected.

"We could but it'd take too long. We'd have to cut through multiple decks, and they could just shift back to another chokepoint. We'd end up having to go through their trap sooner or later," Traxel said. Emron could hear all of the accumulated experience in the man as he gave his summary of the situation.

There was an awkward pause as each of them waited for the others to speak, hoping that someone had a better idea.

"Well frack," Emron said, stating what they were all think.

"Yep," Vette said.

"We've faced worse," Traxel tried to reassure them, but they could hear the doubt in his tone. "I'll get the men ready."

Emron sighed, then check the chronometer in his helmet. Had it really only been ten minutes since they had departed the _Talon_? It felt like two lifetimes had passed already.

"Corporal," he said to the technician's back.

"Yes Lord?"

"What room are they waiting for us in?"

"They haven't mentioned a room by name, but it should be the fire control room. Maybe."

"Maybe?" Emron asked with a raised eyebrow. _I thought marines were supposed to be intimately familiar with the surroundings they'll be fighting in?_

Jouril could not have looked more sheepish had he tried. "Well, there's two versions of the _Thranta_ -class currently in Republic service sir. The Mk. I has most of its systems concentrated on the bridge, as compared to the Mk. II which has them spread throughout the ship in dedicated rooms. I'm fairly certain the _Star_ is a Mk. II though."

 _Makes sense, concentrating systems is more efficient for the captain, but less powerful and more exposed. Considering the_ Thrantas _were originally brought into service to combat pirates instead of serving as frontline warships…._

"Guess we'll find out then," Emron shrugged.

"Guess we will."

"The men are ready to go Lord," Traxel said as he returned. "Jouril, I want you to remain here, keep an eye on everything they do."

"Yes sir."

"Swensil will stay as well in case the Republic tries to reclaim this place. Keep in touch."

"Well Vette," Emron asked as he pulled lightsaber off his belt, "ready to jump right into an ambush?"

"I suppose my life could use some more excitement. Why not?" she said.

"Move out, eyes open!" came the order as the marines filed out of the room.

 _Eighteen minutes to go._


	13. Black Talon, Black Heart III

_Chapter 12: Black Talon, Black Heart III_

 **The** ** _Brentaal Star_**

 **The Apprentice**

"Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea?" Emron asked as he ducked down behind a large targeting 'puter next to Vette, crimson beams splashing across the top of their chosen cover as he did so.

"Because you're a Sith who does Sith-y things?" she provided unhelpfully before popping up from behind cover and riddling an unsuspecting Republic trooper full of blaster bolts before ducking back down to reload her pistol's power pack.

"I knew I kept you around for a reason," he responded with a voice drier than Tatooine.

It could have been going a lot worse he supposed. Walking into the fire control room with their eyes wide open had allowed them to reach cover before the Republic defenders that lined the room. Emron figured that more than half of them would have been caught unawares and subsequently killed if Jouril had not warned them earlier. Now they just had to deal with said defenders.

Just like back in the hangar, the Republic had them boxed in. However, unlike back in the hangar, here the defenders had a means of outflanking and slowly neutralizing the Imperials where they cowered. Troopers stationed up on a catwalk that overlooked the entire room blasted away at whoever dared to pop their heads out for longer than a second. Private Pahcil had found that out the hard way when he had attempted to suppress a pair of flanking defenders trying to circle around on the left side of the room.

 _Poor bastard never saw it coming._

"Lieutenant, any ideas?" he spoke into his comms, hoping that the man taking cover on the other side of the room had anything approaching a plan right now.

 _"_ _Actually, I was hoping you did. We're pretty much fracked seven different ways sideways right now over here,"_ came the answering crackle, accompanied by the ringing sound characteristic of blaster fire.

Emron swore. He had lost count of how many times he had done such since they had boarded the _Star._ Running a few quick calculations through his head, he eyed the catwalk and how far off of the ground it was. Nothing he could not easily reach, but he would be dangerously exposed if he were to jump up. Still….

"Lieutenant, can your marines cover me while I take out those men on the catwalk?" he asked.

 _"_ _Should be able to-"_ An explosion cut Traxel off. _"Kriff! Fonson, take out that grenade launcher! Just give the word, and we'll give it our best shot. Pretty pinned at the moment though!"_

"Copy that Lieutenant."

"Are all Sith as crazy as you?" Vette asked offhandedly as she popped out of their cover to suppress a trooper who had stayed out of his cover for just a second too long.

"Compared to most, I'm positively sane," he said in response, mentally judging just how much power he'd need to put into his jump to reach the catwalk.

"You really know how to reassure a girl, don't you?"

Emron did not deign to respond to that, instead activating his comms again. "Alright Lieutenant, count to three then suppress them."

 _"_ _Acknowledged."_

 _Three, two, one._ There came the sound of a sudden mass outbreak of blaster fire, and then he acted.

One quick Force-propelled leap later, Emron found himself overlooking the room whilst staring down a trio of baffled Republic troopers. Said troopers were currently busy trying to figure out how one of the Imperials they had been merrily suppressing only moments ago was now only meters away from them. Deciding to enlighten them, Emron flashed them a grin that would have sent hardened serial killers running in terror and ignited his lightsaber.

A downward slash to the left relieved the nearest trooper of both of his arms, before a horizontal follow-up cut him cleanly in half. Moving before the man's corpse hit the ground, Emron twisted around a pair of shots before disemboweling another with a flick of his wrist before catapulting the last one off of the catwalk with a Force push. He took a moment to appreciate a pair of marines using the flailing body as an opportunity for an impromptu skeet shooting competition as it cartwheeled through the air before dropping down onto the remaining defenders.

The force of his landing broke the neck of the unfortunate soul beneath his armored boots as Emron used him to soften his landing. Almost as an afterthought, he brought his lightsaber over his left shoulder and behind his back just time in time to send a crimson bolt careening back into the throat of the one that had fired it.

 _Six left. Let's see how long this lasts._

Normally Emron would not be allowing himself to do something like this. Placing oneself in the middle of a pitched firefight whilst waving around a lightsaber was a great way to get one killed. Nothing, after all, attracted more attention, and thus, more incoming fire, than boldly announcing to the world that you are more than capable of utterly obliterating your foes once you are within arm's reach. Right now, however, Emron did not care. Ever since boarding the _Star_ he had found himself practically useless, and now, he needed to vent. Violently.

A low _thump_ to his right alerted him to the firing of a grenade launcher. Opening himself to the full flow of the Dark Side, he reached out and grasped the explosive projectile with the Force before redirecting it into a pair of repositioning troopers.

 _Four._

The man wielding the grenade launched gawped at the sight, unable to comprehend that he had been instrumental, no matter how unwittingly, in the death of his comrades. Two quick strides and an upwards slash later, and he no longer needed to understand anything in the galaxy.

 _Three._

The remaining three troopers opened up with everything they had, one even pulling out a blaster pistol and firing akimbo with both of his weapons at the Sith in desperation. Emron, had he not been completely and utterly focused at the moment, would have snorted in laughter at the sight. Such a stunt would have been holovid-worthy if the man had been able to actually land any of his shots.

Ignoring his dual-wielding foe for now, he turned to face another trooper that was cowering behind a 'puter in an attempt to avoid the hail of Imperial blaster bolts that were now speeding across the room unhindered. Reaching out, he grasped the trooper and flung him into the previous foe, sending the pair of them skidding across the room in a tangle of limbs. Upon seeing this, the last trooper did what any sane person would have done and proceeded to book it out of the room as fast as he could, tossing his rifle to the side in order to maximize his speed.

 _Oh well. Two._

Emron stalked over to the prone forms that lay groaning in pain across the floor. Two quick downward jabs later, and the room was clear.

 _And then there were none._

Slowly he began to limit his connection to the Dark Side, cutting off each thread one at a time. Drawing upon it in the heat of a battle was all well and good, but to drink to deeply from that fount of power was a quick and sure path to insanity. With his focus relaxing, every ache and pain that he had accumulated over the course of the mission set in with a vengeance, leaving him gasping for breath.

He bent over for a groan while feeling at his utility belt for painkillers. Apparently he had been blasted twice during the fight, and he had not even noticed it. Sloppy. Further mistakes like that and he would be dead.

 _Can't keep relying on this luck of mine all the time,_ he thought as he grabbed a syringe of kolto from his aid kit and brought it to one of the injection ports that his armor sported. One quick stab later and a comfortable numbness spread through his limbs.

"Lieutenant, status?" Emron asked the man that had been waiting patiently while he had attended to his needs.

"One dead. Private Pahcil. We got lucky here." Traxel's face was screwed up in distaste. Clearly the man disliked being forced to rely upon luck just as much as Emron did.

 _"_ _El-tee, sir?"_ came the voice of Private Jouril over their comm systems.

"Go ahead Jouril," Traxel replied.

 _"_ _Something big is headed your way. Stand by."_

"More troopers?" Emron asked while Traxel frantically bellowed for his men to return to cover.

 _"_ _No Lord, I'm picking up an electronic signature. A big electronic signature."_

 _Battle 'droid then. But why would the Republic send a lone 'droid down here when half a platoon couldn't stop us?_

"Define big for me technician," he snapped as he ducked down into cover next to Traxel.

Jouril's answering reply was drowned out beneath the loud grinding produced by a pair of blast doors opening across the room, followed by a series of ominous, thundering _thud_ s. Thuds that were rapidly coming closer until…

"Never mind," Emron said faintly, "It just defined itself for me."

Towering above the heads of the Imperial marines on three legs was the most massive 'droid Emron had ever seen. Armed with blaster cannons that were longer than he was tall and encased in a reflective energy shield, the machine swept the room with a pair of balefully-set optics.

Idly, Emron's mind calculated the 'droid to be about four and a half meters tall, leaving him wondering just how it was able to so much as move throughout the ship.

 _"_ _GXR-7 Command Droid online,"_ it growled out into the now dead quiet room. _"Imperial bio signatures detected. Death to all who oppose freedom."_

 _Well kark._

Swinging its armament around faster than any being that size had any right to, the 'droid promptly proceeded to blast a targeting 'puter and the two marines hiding behind it into oblivion.

"Kriff!" screamed Traxel, composure finally breaking. "Bring that thing down!"

Blaster fire erupted from all sides of the room as the marines desperately tried anything and everything to stop the mechanical monstrosity that was now repositioning itself for another blast. Thermal detonators soared through the air in an attempt to bring more firepower into the fray, causing the shield that protected the 'droid to sputter sporadically. The few rounds that made it through in the intervals were stopped almost contemptuously by the armor that coated the 'droid.

 _"_ _You will only be the beginning!"_ GXR blared electronically as it fired once more, this time only narrowly missing its target: a marine that had decided that sticking around would be highly detrimental to his health.

Emron glared at the machine as it marched across the floor, seeking to finish off the remaining marines on the other side of the room. The cannons were too big for him to simply deflect, and he had no intentions on becoming a smear on the durasteel flooring that vaguely resembled a Sith. He was useless here unless something changed dramatically within the next minute.

 _"_ _No escape, no hope, no mercy!"_ the 'droid trumpeted as it annihilated the door through which the Imperials had entered before turning back to the Imperials, coming to a stop beneath the catwalk.

The thought crossed Emron's mind the same second that Traxel began shouting orders to take out the supports for the catwalk. Energy shielding might stop blaster bolts, but it tended to not hold up very well to roughly a quarter of a ton of durasteel crashing down on it.

Beams twisted and melted beneath the intense heat of ionized tibanna gas before giving out entirely with a high-pitched shriek. To its credit, the 'droid realized what was happening and backpedaled desperately to escape the now-rapidly descending walkway.

One thundering smash later, and the GXR found itself trapped beneath the broken slab of metal, its oversized blasters caught beneath it. Even if it managed to free itself from its current predicament, the best it could do now was attempt to step on its enemies.

 _"_ _Vile trickery! Dishonorable combat!"_ it raged. If it had been an organic, Emron was certain it would have been foaming at the mouth now. _"Is this all the 'Empire's Finest' can do?!"_

"Let's go men, we're leaving," Traxel said into his comm unit while Emron stood up next to him.

 _"_ _Not gonna finish this thing off El-tee?"_ asked one of the marines in response. _"Might come after us."_

 _"_ _You just wanna carve a big notch into your blaster and boast about it to all the cantina girls Grenhik. Don't lie to the man,"_ retorted another.

"Comm discipline! We don't have the time to indulge this thing's fantasies, now move!" Traxel snapped.

 _"_ _My helmet took a hit during all that sir, how much time we got left?"_

"Not nearly enough for your questions private, now fall out!"

"How many are left?" Emron asked. He did not need to specify what.

Traxel clicked off his comm and sighed. "Seven, plus the two we left back in security," he responded wearily. "No idea how Zemis is holding up, he's got orders to maintain comm silence."

Emron grunted. _Came over with twenty-six, left nine in the hangar. Eight too many good men dead. This better all be worth it in the end._

"Best we get this over with then," he said as he turned towards the door that would lead them further into the _Star_ , Traxel, Vette, and the marines falling behind him, leaving the Republic 'droid to fume impotently as they exited the room.

 _"_ _Cowards! Butchers! When I get out of this, I'll-"_ Anything the GXR had to say was cut off as Vette pirouetted on her heel and blew a raspberry at it just before the automatic doors slammed shut.

* * *

The path towards the escape pods had been relatively calm, with resistance nonresistant at best and sporadic at worst. Most of the pockets of Republic security forces had turned out to be crewmen forced to defend their posts from the marauding Imperials. Clearly no one had expected them to make it quite this far.

 _"_ _Sir, target is almost to the escape pods,"_ came the voice of Jouril over the comms.

"How close?" Emron asked as he, Vette, and the marines sprinted through another empty hallway.

 _"_ _About two more rooms to go Lord. The VIP is severely wounded, it's slowing him down a good bit. There's someone else with him."_

"Another trooper?" grunted a winded Traxel.

 _"_ _No sir, looks like a Jedi, by the way she's dressed."_

"Jedi?" asked Traxel as he came to a halt. "You sure?"

 _"_ _Positive. Got the robes and everything sir."_

Traxel grunted again and looked over at Emron.

"I'll handle it," he promised, mind racing. Did they even have the time to fight something like a Jedi? Could he manage it at this point, with her fresh and him having had to fight for the past twenty minutes?

 _Nothing for it now. Time to do or die. Again._

 _"_ _Sir, that Jedi is leaving the VIP and headed your way."_

"How close?" Emron asked as they came to a stop next to a locked down blast door.

 _"_ _She's in the engine room right now, just past those doors. Looks like she isn't budging from there Lord."_

"Jouril, you and Swensil get back to the hangar, we can handle things from here," Traxel ordered.

 _"_ _Yes sir."_

"We can move to secure the target through the maintenance shafts Lord, but only if you can keep the Jedi from figuring out what we're up to," he said to Emron. "We'd probably just end up getting in your way if we went with you anyways," he added, as if in afterthought.

"Probably. Vette, go with," Emron said with a gesture towards the marines.

"You sure?" she asked.

He waved her off before turning to face the door. Cutting would take too long, blast doors were designed with intense heat in mind. That left him with only one option.

 _Shouldn't be doing this, not after earlier. Use the Force too much and too fast and you risk fading away. Seen it before. Most likely that I'll see it again._

Once more Emron opened himself up fully to the Force, and it answered. He felt it flowing past Vette and the marines as they navigated their way through the maze that was the _Star_ 's access tunnels. He could sense the Jedi waiting for him inside the room, looking around in alarm at the power being harnessed nearby. Most of all, he could feel every centimeter of himself. He was, in this moment, truly alive.

Projecting the power at his fingertips outwards, he watched as the blast door crumpled and twisted beneath the amount of pressure that he was exerting. One gentle nudge later, and the door blew inwards, crushing a pair of troopers where they stood as it cartwheeled through the air.

Then everything came to a stop almost simultaneously. The door came to a smashing halt against the far wall just as soon as he could no longer risk such an open connection to the Force.

 _Fierfek! I knew that was a stupid idea,_ Emron thought as he bent over exhausted. _Should've asked one of the marines for some explosives. Anything._ He looked up to see the Jedi now strolling purposefully towards him. _I can hardly breathe, and now I have to fight. Great plan, genius._

A blade of green plasma erupted from the Jedi's lightsaber as she came to a halt before him, looking him up and down contemptuously. Emron could practically hear her thoughts.

 _Believe it lady. This is what fought through an entire Republic warship to get here. Wait, is she…. Oh no, here comes the requisite monologue._

"You may have reached this far, Sith, but you stand before a Jedi now," the female Twi'lek practically sneered at him. Maybe not. It could be hard to tell sometimes with the placid façade Jedi liked to project. He decided to tune out at this moment, confident that she would not launch the first blow.

 _Whatever, let her run her mouth as long as she likes. Gives me more time to recover,_ he thought as he stood back up and pulled out his own lightsaber. He hazarded a glance at his chronometer.

 _Nine minutes._

"My name," the voice in the background continued, "is Yadira Ban, padawan of the Jedi Order. Defeating you-"

 _That may not be enough time to get back. Karking dammit. Didn't come all this way to give up now. Hopefully Traxel and the others are having more luck than I am right now._

"-Are you even listening to me?" the Jedi harrumphed indignantly.

Emron forced himself back into the present. "You talk too damn much," was all he said before he thumbed the activation stud on his lightsaber and leapt at her.

Red met green in a block as Emron staggered her back a few steps with his blow. Immediately disengaging, he swung low and right, only to be met with another parry.

 _Left, left, right, upwards, downwards, stab._ The motions planned out milliseconds in advance of the actual blows. The pair were finding themselves evenly matched, her defensive style fending off his more aggressive strikes, neither able to land even the slightest of blows.

 _Right, parry, feint, right again, now left._ He was rapidly becoming more and more exhausted with each swing. He simply did not have the energy to fight this type of battle right now. This had to end before he was reduced to a gasping heap on the floor.

 _Dodge, kick, dodge that retaliation, c'mon Emron, you can do this, right._

The pair broke apart after another flurry of blows, both sucking air greedily into their lungs as they did. Desperately Emron took a mental inventory of anything and everything he had that could make even the slightest of differences.

"You can't win," promised the Jedi, "I just have to hold you off long enough."

Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind. _No, it's too crazy, it won't work. This isn't some comedy holovid. Yet, what choice do I really have?_

Shifting his grip on his lightsaber from both hands to his left, Emron began a complex series of motions. As he flourished his lightsaber and spun about, he could see the Jedi fall into her defensive stance once more.

All of these ridiculously complex motions, however, were simply a ruse to cover up him plucking the shield generator off his utility belt with his right hand. Coming to an abrupt halt halfway through another spin, he proceeded to launch it directly at Yadira's face, dashing in right behind it.

Whatever the Jedi had been prepared for, it certainly was not this. Even as she sliced the rogue generator in twain, Emron struck her with all the strength he had left, unbalancing her. One last blow, the last he could muster his arms to strike, was enough to slice her hands off in one swift motion.

As Ban fell to the floor in a scream of pain and shock, he straightened his heaving form back upwards for the final strike. "Haven't you heard?" he asked as he wound up for the decapitating strike. "I always win."

As the Jedi's severed head rolled off her kneeling form, Emron grabbed desperately for a combat stim off her corpse. He hated using the things, as the inevitable crash that accompanied their usage was killer. At the moment, however, he hardly had a say in the matter.

"Traxel, do you respond?" he said into his comms as he injected the stim.

 _"_ _I was just about to call you Lord. Target has been secured. No casualties on our end,"_ came the response.

"The Jedi has been dealt with, I'm on my way to your position now," he said while eyeing a waypoint marker appear on his helmet's HUD.

 _"_ _Copy that Lord, we'll hold down the fort."_

With his limbs temporarily refreshed by the stim, he sprinted out of the engine room and towards the marines.

* * *

Emron stared down at the body that lay on the floor before him, only the emergency lights left to illuminate the form. "This it?" he asked.

"Bio signatures match up Lord, this is our man," Traxel reassured him.

Emron eyed the man dubiously. An unconscious and overweight man bleeding and drooling all over the floor had hardly been what he had been envisioning what they were after.

"If this is him then, let's get this over with," said the Sith.

"We takin' him prisoner then Lord?" one of the marines asked.

"If you want to carry him back to the shuttles then be my guest marine," he responded, never taking his eyes off the prone form. A wave of laughter rippled through the soldiers.

Traxel grunted. "Kilran did say 'by any means necessary'," he said with a thoughtful look on his face.

Emron responded with a grunt of his own. "Then put a bolt in the back of his head and let's get out of here. Force knows we've been here far too long anyways."

"And if the Grand Moff asks where his precious prisoner is?" Traxel asked, even as he pulled out his pistol and placed it flush with the target's skull.

"I'll tell him his man was halfway into an escape pod by the time we caught up with him then."

The pistol rang loudly and with finality in the enclosed escape pod bay. "Jouril mentioned some sort of tramway system that would take us back near the hangar in his last transmission," Traxel said as he holstered the weapon.

"Would've been nice to know about that earlier. Still, it's our only chance of getting out of here, short of hijacking the entire ship," Emron said. "Lead on Lieutenant."

"Yes Lord. Fall out men! We're leaving!"

* * *

They could hear the blaster fire even before they entered the hangar bay, evidence that Sergeant Zemis and his men were still holding the landing zone. Outside of the bay, they could see the _Talon_ repositioning itself to better receive the boarders and its remaining starfighters, proof that Emron's brief broadcast to the ship while they were on the tram had made it through the interference.

No one slowed down as they burst into the hangar, for to slow down would equate to abandonment on a Republic warship full of unhappy defenders. The marines took the counterattacking defenders by surprise with a hail of blaster bolts to the back. Those that did not fall to the surprise assault hunkered down and fired off a few potshots in the general direction of the Imperials.

Up ahead, Zemis and his men were still laying down the covering fire, manning their heavy weapons until Traxel and his men were aboard their shuttle. To his right, Emron could see a marine taking a bolt to the back of his legs and fall to the ground, before two of his fellow soldiers hoisted him back up and hauled him towards the shuttle.

Explosives detonated, blasters sang, men cursed. In the end, the Imperials pounded up the ramps to their shuttles, unable to secure themselves into their seats before the shuttles blasted out of the _Star_ 's hangar and back towards the _Talon._

"New contacts jumping in!" shouted the pilot of their shuttle over the howling roar of an engine pushed well past the recommended safety limit. "It's a good thing you guys got back when you did and not later! I might have actually had to do some real flying to get us back then!"

"You didn't seriously doubt us did you?" shouted back one of the marines.

Emron smiled beneath his helmet. Everyone was high on adrenaline and euphoria after their success and their escape. Even Traxel was throwing wisecracks around like they were going out of style.

The shuttles banged down on the hangar bay in the _Talon_ just in time. Right after the Republic reinforcements opened up on the transport, the _Talon_ made the jump to hyperspace.

They had beaten the odds stacked against them and won.

Now Dromund Kaas awaited them.

 **A/N: Clocking in at just over 13k words total, that is the Black Talon flashpoint arc done and over with. This was a lot of fun to write, and hopefully a lot of fun for all of you to read. As always, your feedback is much appreciated. Next chapter posted will be for Welcome Home, then I'll start in on the Dromund Kaas arc.**


	14. Into the Heart of Darkness

_Chapter 13: Into the Heart of Darkness_

 **The** ** _Black Talon_**

 **The Apprentice**

"…then I turned the corner just as soon as this Republic trooper decides to turn it too, and we're both just standing there staring at each other! So I grab his head and bash it all over the nearest terminal! Bastard probably never had time to figure out how the hell we got there that fast."

"You're so full of shit Grenhik."

"I swear man, it's true! Just ask Jensen over there!"

"Hey, leave me outta this asshat."

"And once again, you have no proof."

"You have no proof that it _didn't_ happen."

"No need. We all know you."

Emron smirked behind his helmet at the banter as he stamped down the ramp behind the marines and into the _Talon_ 's battered hangar bay. All of the pent-up adrenaline that had accompanied him during the action aboard the _Star_ was now flooding out of his system, leaving him feeling an odd mixture of euphoria and exhaustion that was beginning to settle deep within his bones. _Kark, I'll probably end up sleeping for a week._

"Force Grenhik, you ever stop? Or at least try to come up with some half believable?" Traxel asked as he removed his helmet to rub at his temples.

"Sir, you wound me! You of all people should know by now that I never tell lies!" the other marine responded, his voice full of faux indignation.

Vette, of all people, snorted out a laugh in response to that. _Sarky girl._

"Alright people, shut up and go grab some shut eye," Traxel said as he hooked his helmet onto his utility belt. "Zemis, you're with me. Lord, I presume you'll be accompanying us to the bridge?"

"Yes," Emron nodded. _No doubt Kilran is pounding down the Captain's metaphorical door by now. Best to get this over with._

"I'm gonna go grab some shuteye as well, if it's alright with you," Vette said as she motioned towards the backs of the departing marines.

"Fine."

"Thanks," she said gratefully before moving off in the opposite direction.

"Damn but they really did a number on the ship," Zemis remarked as they made their way out of the hangar and into the corridors leading towards the bridge. Technicians and 'droids darted about and around them, running assessments and performing damage control.

"Good thing the _Star_ was already beat up when we showed up then," Emron said as he ducked below a bundle of sparking cables before sliding past a durasteel girder that protruded sharply from the wall. "Would have ended up having to hijack it otherwise."

"Now _that_ would have been something," Traxel said as they stepped into the elevator waiting to take them to the bridge. "Now let's just get this with, yeah? I hurt all over, I'm exhausted, and now I've got to report to Grand Bloody Moff Kilran himself. _Kark._ "

"No argument here," Emron sighed as Zemis stifled a snicker at his superior's plight.

"Shut it you bastard, you had it easy," Traxel pseudo-snarled before punching the button for the bridge somewhat harder than necessary.

* * *

It turned out they need not have rushed after all.

Chaos reigned as Emron, Traxel, and Zemis stepped out of the elevator. The bridge had been turned into a charnel house since the last time Emron had set foot in it. Security forces were assisting medical teams place the injured onto stretchers to be carried to the med bay or removing twisted and broken bodies from where they lay splayed out across their stations. Cries and moans of pain echoed throughout the room as those deemed to be healthy enough still working furiously to keep the ship intact and on course.

Two security troopers were carrying off a familiar looking body just as the trio reached the fore of the bridge. "Lord, Lieutenant," Lieutenant Sylas said as she turned to face them, a bloody bandage covering the right half of her face.

Traxel and Zemis stiffened up and saluted, while Emron settled for a respectful nod. "I take it that was the Captain they just hauled away?" he asked, jerking his head backwards towards the retreating figures making their way out of the room.

"Indeed Lord," the woman nodded. "We were hit pretty badly about ten minutes in. The Captain had just ordered us to go evasive to dodge a wave of sabotage 'droid pods, unfortunately it put us directly within the enemy's broadside."

"How bad?"

"Overall? Half of our fighters were lost, and the rest are too shot up to fight. About two dozen crew dead, including the Captain, another dozen critically wounded, and most of the rest are injured in one fashion or another. As for the ship itself, the reports I'm starting to receive are intermittent at best, but the _Talon_ will most likely be in dry dock for the next month getting all the holes in the hull patched up."

"Damn," Emron muttered.

"Simply put Lord, another minute and a half, and there would have been no ship for you to return to."

"So," he said as he glanced around, still attempting to take in all of the carnage that surrounded them, "I take it you're the acting captain now?"

"Indeed. And my first blatant abuse of power is to foist this 'droid's nonstop demands onto you," Sylas said as she motioned towards NR-02.

If the 'droid had been an organic rather than a synthetic, Emron imagined it would have had a thunderous look upon its face as it stormed its way over towards him.

"Grand Moff Kilran is _requesting_ a debriefing from you," it said before raising its arm in order to access the imbedded micro-'puter stored within.

No one missed the emphasis on 'request'. They had clearly not lived up to the Moff's lofty expectations, and someone was about to catch all sorts of hell for it. Traxel and Zemis both took surreptitious steps backwards, while Lieutenant Sylas adopted a pensive look with impressive speed. As for Emron himself…

 _I wonder if I could reach those depressurization controls before the 'droid finishes connecting._

The bridge holoprojector hummed to life before spewing out the image of Grand Moff Kilran above it.

 _Guess not._

Where NR-02 was incapable expressing emotion, the thunderhead brewing on Kilran's face was doing everything it could to make up for that deficiency, and succeeding admirably in the process. Individuals around the bridge who took notice of the impending outburst began making whatever excuses they could in order to make a beeline for the exit.

Emron sighed lightly, resisting the urge to massage his throbbing temples. The Force only knew how much he would rather be sleeping right now instead of having to deal with whatever had gotten the Moff all worked up like this.

"The mission was a success sir," he spoke after brief interlude of awkward, tense silence.

"So I've been informed," came the reply that heralded the return of the oppressive silence.

Emron frantically ran a few sentence through his head, desperately trying to find something that would jumpstart the debriefing. Kilran's clipped tone interrupted him before he could begin making a fool of himself, however. "I've also been informed, courtesy of NR-02 here, that you blatantly disregarded my request to deal with Captain Orzik, and also killed the General rather than take him alive."

 _General?_ Emron thought. One thought skittered through his mind in an endless loop.

 _Oops._

"Well…" he stammered out. "You _did_ say to keep his information from the Republic. Never specified the how part."

Kilran's glare only intensified at those words, and it was all Emron could do to not gulp in terror. Sith, contrary to popular belief, did in fact, _not_ have free reign to do whatever they liked whenever they liked. While they were afforded many liberties that befitted their station, and some highly influential Sith abused their power for all it was worth, he did not bother deluding himself that he could do the same. If Kilran ordered his 'droid to terminate him here and now, apprentice to Darth Baras or not, no one would bat an eye. After all, it would be well within the Moff's rights.

He had no fear of dying in battle. But this?

 _Kriff! Get a damn hold of yourself!_

Suddenly the angered look disappeared off of Kilran's face, so fast that he was left feeling slightly nauseous. A tiny smirk took up residence in place of the previous glare.

"Why so I did," Kilran said in a rather genial tone. "And the Captain met his end in the battle, so I hardly have room to complain there either, now do I? All in all, I must say that you've done a most remarkable thing here today."

"I…thank you?" Emron stuttered out in a highly undignified way. He figured he would be dying of embarrassment at such a pitiful statement if he was not so flabbergasted by Kilran's mood whiplash.

"I may have need of your services in the future, given how competently you executed this," Kilran continued, ignoring his reaction. "But for now, I'm afraid other matters are currently vying for my attention, so I must cut this short. The Empire thanks you for your service." With that, the holoprojector cut out, and everyone on the bridge took a collective breath.

After a long moment, Traxel took the liberty to voice what they were all thinking.

"What. The. Fek."

* * *

Emron stared out of the hangar at the slowly revolving blue orb that floated endlessly in space below him.

They had exited hyperspace a couple of hours ago after spending another day in hyperspace. A day that he had spent indulging in nothing but glorious sleep. They had entered orbit only minutes ago, whereupon they had proceeded to dock with an awaiting orbital platform that would ferry all non-essential crew down to the surface while emergency repairs were carried out on the _Talon_ 's battered frame. From there, as he understood it, the ship would be sent to the shipyards above Ziost for repairs more permanent than the simple patchwork job that would be performed here.

A moment of idle curiosity washed over him when realized that he could not remember the last time he had been on Dromund Kaas. Yet from what little he remembered about the planet itself, it seemed to have not changed even in the slightest since all those years ago, when he had been bundled against his will onto a transport bound for Ziost and destiny.

He forced the faint memories from his mind. It would not do in the slightest to start dredging the past up. What was done was long since done, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

 _Another time, another life._

Turning back towards the waiting shuttle, he was surprised to see the remaining members of Sigma platoon waiting for him to arrive. He was doubly surprised when all of them stood to attention and smartly saluted him as he drew near. Lieutenant Traxel stepped forwards, offering a hand and a nod, both of which Emron accepted graciously.

"Pleasure serving with you Lord," the man said as he pumped the Sith's arm.

"Pleasure was all mine Lieutenant, couldn't have done it with you and your men," Emron said with a smile.

"Of course you couldn't have, we're Imperial marines. The best," Traxel retorted good-humoredly, drawing laughs from the still-saluting marines. "We just let you watch how it's done was all."

"Well then," Emron said as he let go and began searching his belt, before pulling out a credit chit. "Drinks are on me then, you and your men deserve them."

The marines abandoned any remaining sense of decorum they had left as they hooted and cheered at the prospect of free alcohol. Traxel smirked as he accepted the proffered chit. "I'm sure we'll make good use of this Lord."

"I'm sure you will, now if you'll excuse me, I'm a little late for a meeting with my master."

"Sure you don't want to stay with us? We could use a meat shield."

"Tempting. It'd probably be safer, that's for sure."

Both men laughed before Traxel stepped back. He snapped one last salute, one which Emron returned, before the Sith turned and made his way up the ramp and into the awaiting shuttle.

Dromund Kaas and Darth Baras awaited him.

* * *

Rain pounded on the hull of the shuttle as the pilot brought it down into the Kaas City spaceport, a steady drumbeat against the durasteel plating. The ride down to the surface had been a rough one, the typhoon season winds pounding against the shuttle and jostling about its occupants, and Vette had audibly cheered when the pilot had announced that they had been cleared for final approach. Emron, for his part, was simply eager to have solid ground beneath his feet again. If the entire _Talon_ escapade had taught him anything, it was that space was the last place for someone like him.

Landing gear met unyielding duracrete with a jolt, heralding the end of more than a week long journey through the void, and Vette and Emron both quickly unstrapped themselves from their seats before making their way down the ramp and into the awaiting docking bay.

"So this is Dromund Kaas huh? Never been here before," Vette noted as she practically ran down off of the ramp.

"Most people would call that a good thing," Emron noted as he followed at a more sedate pace.

"That's because it is," Vette returned bluntly.

"Touché. We'd better go put ourselves through customs, unless you feel like this is far enough already," Emron said as he gestured towards a line of electronic scanners at the far end of the bay, near the exit.

"I would say it is, especially after you mentioned customs, but this bay hardly seems like the coziest of places to stay, y'know?"

"Is that a professional opinion, or just a gut feeling?"

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other."

Emron chuckled lightly as he made his way over to the squat machines that sat patiently for his arrival. It felt good, indulging in mindless banter like this, knowing that the other person was not sizing you up in order to stick a lightsaber through your back. He could become used to this.

Punching in his name and Imperial standard ID, he stood back and waited for the machine to run its course. That was when he noticed Vette doing that same.

 _Great, didn't think about this part. She won't have an ID, not when she's not an Imperial citizen. How in the Force am I going to…?_

Whatever he was planning to finish that particular train of thought with vanished when he saw Vette pull out a holodisk and insert into the machine, receiving a _blat_ of acknowledgment in return.

"Where'd you get an ID from?" he asked, mostly curious and partly suspicious.

"Forged it myself. I've had to change identities lots of times before. Now it's trivial stuff to do," she said as she pulled the disk back out and pocketed it.

"I see…" he trailed off before noticing an individual exiting the bay's elevator and making his way over towards them.

"Are you Darth Baras' apprentice?" the small, mousy man asked with a timid voice.

Emron chose to say nothing, instead crossing his arms across his chest while transfixing the man with a fierce glare. There was a good chance that this was what it seemed, that Baras simply wanted to give him directions to his master through a proxy, but he did not feel like taking any chances at the moment.

 _Force knows I just got out of one pitched fight. Don't need some rival Lord sending assassins after me and starting another before I couldn't keep my gob shut._

Faced with Emron's silence and glare, the man seemed to shrink in on himself even more. "I-if you are, then I was told to t-tell you that Darth Baras awaits you in the Ministry of War wing of the Imperial Citadel, Lord."

When silence continued to be the only answer the unfortunate messenger received, the poor soul turned awkwardly and ran off towards the elevator, stumbling over his own feet in his haste. Only after the elevator doors had closed, shutting him off from Emron's sight did the Sith relent in his glower.

"What was that all about?" Vette asked as she walked over towards him. "It looked like you were trying to gut the guy with your eyes, and succeeding!"

Emron merely shook his head as he brought his arms down off of his chest and to his sides. "Nothing," he stated as he moved to follow after the messenger. "Let's just get to Kaas City before Baras pops a vein because I made him wait even longer."

"No argument here," came Vette's voice from behind him as she hurried to catch up. "So how are we gonna get there? You planning on walking in this weather? We'd end up lost within minutes given how hard that rain's coming down out there."

Emron barked a laugh as the two of them entered the elevator, punching the button for the spaceport's main concourse. "Yes, you've definitely never been to Dromund Kaas before."

"What's the supposed to mean?" Vette asked with an angered and indignant tone as the elevator began its descent.

"You mentioned the rain. The weather is hardly the most dangerous thing about this planet."

That statement wiped the look off of her face, though he sensed her irritation bleeding into the Force, filling up the tiny cabin of the elevator like a choking cloud. _I'd better explain better than that. After the last time that this happened, back on the_ Talon, _I don't think I'll survive another bout of her petty revenge._ A brief grimace flitted across his face. _Wasn't able to sit right for two whole days. Fek, but she's got a nasty streak wider than some Sith._

So he explained. "It's like Korriban, but a lot worse out there," he said in a placating tone. "Trust me when I say that."

Most of the irritation disappeared in a flash after that, though some still lingered on. Emron let out a mental sigh of relief. It looked like he would live to see another day after all.

"How so?" she asked, her voice laden with curiosity.

"Simple," he said as the elevator chimed, announcing their arrival at the concourse, "Korriban's a dead world. For the most part anyways. The real danger on Korriban are the Sith. Dromund Kaas, on the other hand, is liable to devour you whole."

"Oh." A moment of silence took up its place between the pair as they threaded and weaved their way through a mass of humanity, bent on reaching a public transport terminal that would take them to Kaas City without any incident. "So one of _those_ planets, huh?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"Coulda just said that and been done with it in the first place."

"And pass up on the chance to be all mystical and cryptic?"

"Point taken."

* * *

The taxi speeder sped its way through twisted and ancient foliage, undaunted by the fat drops of rain that slammed mercilessly onto its canopy, or by the wicked bolts of lightning that flashed overhead. Inside, the pair of occupants alternated between twiddling their thumbs and engaging in intermittent bouts of verbal sparring with each other.

"Kriff!"

Emron languidly stretched his neck over towards where Vette was peering out of one of the windows. "What?" he asked lazily.

"I just saw what you meant by 'devour you whole,'" the Twi'lek said, her face a few shades paler than its normal deep blue.

"There's still a ways to go if you feel like stretching your legs a bit," he offered.

"Yeah, I'm good," she retorted before shifting in her seat in a vain effort to find some sort of comfort in the rock-hard seats. "Never was the type for extreme sports anyways. Kark, but are these seats made out of duracrete or something?"

"It's public transportation. Just be thankful that we managed to get a ride that has a minimum of used gum stuck everywhere."

"Little things huh?"

Emron merely grunted his agreement to that. _Little things indeed._

It was not long before the taxi began angling downwards and decelerating rapidly. "Looks like our stop," Emron said as he attempted to straighten himself out of the impressive slump he had managed to slide into.

"Next stop, Sith Central," Vette muttered.

As the cab touched down, both undid their safety buckles and piled out into the pouring rain. All around them were elegant and towering residential spires surrounded by squat, sturdy commercial buildings. Above them all, however, loomed the Imperial Citadel, the beating heart of the Sith Empire and nerve center of the most powerful civilization in the galaxy.

"Welcome to Kaas City," Emron said to Vette with a sweeping gesture and a wide grin. "Welcome to the Empire."


	15. The Million Credit Man

**A/N: So as a way of saying sorry for saying I'd post one chapter of _Welcome Home_ and then going and posting three, here's another chapter of this. As always, feedback is very much appreciated.**

 _Chapter 14: The Million Credit Man_

 **Dromund Kaas**

 **The Apprentice**

A myriad display of lights flickered in the darkened environs of the Ministry of War as Emron made his way towards the wing that had been claim by Darth Baras as his office. Vette trailed behind him, occasionally tossing a look over her shoulder, as if the exit that grew further and further with every step would disappear forever if she failed to keep an eye on it.

 _Given how concentrated the Dark Side is here, I can hardly blame her for such an obviously reaction,_ Emron thought as he weaved past a pair of attendants that were marching towards the opposite side of the room. _My nerves feel like they're on fire, and I'm more used to the Dark. Though how much of that is the Force and how much is the impending meeting with Baras, I can't tell._

He could feel the eyes burning holes in his back every time he passed someone by. It came as no surprise, really. By now, undoubtedly everyone knew that Darth Baras had taken a new apprentice, and all of the observers in the room, both seen and unseen, were no doubt recording every move he made, every breath he took. The upper echelons of the Empire wanted to know just who they would be dealing with now, whether to better suck up to Baras or potentially exploit this new variable in the equation. _Let them look. For all the good it will do them._

"So…quite the impressive atmosphere you guys have in here," came Vette's voice from behind him. "Ever thought of using something besides red and black all the time? Mix it up a little?"

"We're in the very heart of the Empire itself, the place from which the Emperor himself commands the unquestioning loyalty of millions of souls, and you're complaining about the décor," Emron said in a flat tone of voice as he ducked into the passageway to Baras' chambers.

"Well, I mean, come on now, first impressions and all that," Vette said nervously, her apprehension showing more clearly with every step.

"Perhaps the Emperor will grant you an audience then. He'll come out of his centuries-long silence just so you can tell him exactly what you think of his design and fashion sensibilities."

"It'd be a story for the ages, if nothing else."

Then they turned the corner into what had to be Baras' waiting chamber, and all thoughts of conversations ceased.

The room was abundantly austere. That hardly surprised Emron, having experienced the dubious pleasure that was Baras' office back in the Academy. Plain, gray duracrete interspersed with the occasional Imperial flag or statue of the Emperor was clearly the order of the day wherever Baras chose to become involved. In a way, the lack of adornment was a statement, he supposed. A proclamation that one had just entered the private quarters of a man above the need for petty fulfillments, instead choosing to dedicate himself to the furthering of the Empire as a whole.

Taking a deep breath and suppressing his nervousness, he strode towards the archway that denoted the location of Baras' office. Willing his body to continue placing one leg in front of the other in the correct direction, his passed through and came to a halt before Baras' desk, where the Dark Lord of the Sith sat poring over a stack of datapads, the man's omnipresent blank mask concealing his face away from the world as he took in the streams of information laying before him.

Emron drew himself to attention, while Vette came to a halt near the exit. There was no response from Darth Baras in regards to their entrance, and Emron did not make a sound. His master would see him when he was ready to see him.

The silence stretched on, one minute grinding into two, two grinding into six, before Emron gave up counting the minutes as they passed by. Finally Baras deigned to speak.

"Were it not for the report that Grand Moff Kilran sent me regarding your recent activities, I would have assumed that you were mocking me in your tardiness, apprentice," he said without bothering to take his eyes off of the datapads.

Emron remained silent. It was a fundamental rule of the Sith that the apprentice only spoke when the master allowed them. Respect and discipline was expected. Those who failed to follow this unspoken law of the universe found themselves dead, or worse.

"As it stands however," Baras said as he finally stood up and took stock of the two intruders within his private domain, "I am willing to overlook this. But do not even so much as dream of repeating this occurrence. My word is law, no matter who demands otherwise, excepting only the Emperor himself."

The slow, measured clicking of Baras' metal boots against grey duracrete was the only sound that echoed through the Imperial Citadel as the Darth made his way around his desk and in front of Emron. Leaning in close, he hissed, "Do I make myself clear, apprentice?"

"Perfectly, my master," Emron said, no muscles moving beyond those required to relay his understanding.

The expressionless mask remained where it was for a few seconds longer, as Baras judged the truthfulness of that statement. Apparently finding it to be sufficient, he leaned backwards to his desk, the eyes of the mask never breaking from Emron's.

"You know why you have been called here, apprentice. Here, on this ancient world of the Sith, the capital of our Empire, you begin a new chapter in your destiny," Baras pontificated, gesturing grandly as he did. "I will mold you into the reflection of my will. You will be my right hand, going where I cannot. You will be the terror of my rivals, the bane of my foes, the downfall of all those who stand in our way. Rejoice my apprentice, for you have been chosen for the highest of callings: the advancement of the goals of the Sith Order."

Baras grunted before turning to grab an errant datapad. "However, know that I have no use for a mindless sycophant. Force knows I already have far too many of those yapping at my heels, begging endlessly for favors. I expect you to exercise good judgment in all that you decide upon and set out to accomplish. That includes your decision to keep the slave."

He could not see Vette's reaction to that last word, but he could feel it, and if he could feel it then Baras could most definitely feel it. Emron was certain that his master was smirking beneath his mask, amused by how easy it was to provoke the Twi'lek. Baras, however, chose not to remark upon it, instead asking, "Am I making myself understood in all of this?"

"Yes, my master."

"Having said that though, you will follow my commands down to the very last word, both in spirit and letter. When I say kill, you will kill. When I say capture, you will capture. No excuses will be tolerated, and no exceptions will be granted. Failure will cost you your life."

Silence followed as Baras perused the datapad in his hand, leaving Emron to absorb all that he had said. After another interval of silence, Baras grunted, having seemingly found what he had been scanning for.

"And now for your first task. My agents within the Jedi Order recently managed to capture a Republic spy that somehow managed to infiltrate one of my networks, searching for what I do not know. They encased him in carbonite and had him shipped here to me. Your duty is simple: head to Kaas City's cargo port and ensure the successful transportation of the spy back to here. No doubt some other Lord will make an attempt to claim him as a bargaining chip."

"Understood, my master."

"Excellent," Baras said as he handed over the datapad in his hand. "Docking bay B7, they will be waiting for you. Give them the code on that pad, and then ensure that the hand off is successful: that prisoner is more valuable to me than your own life. Go there, now. And remember: I am _always_ watching."

Emron glanced at the datapad for a seconds, committing the code to memory before handing it back to Baras. "Your will is my command, master," he said, bowing as he did.

With that, Emron turned and carefully walked out of Baras' office as fast as he could without drawing rebuke, gesturing for Vette to follow, something she more than gladly did. He would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but it was only by the skin of his teeth that he managed to keep himself from bolting as he left.

* * *

"So," Vette started as the two of them made their way through a fairly crowded marketplace, both of them infinitely grateful for the metal canopies that kept the rain off of them.

"So?" Emron asked after a follow-up was not forthcoming, ducking between a maintenance 'droid busily working on repairing a fist-sized hole in the side of a storefront and an overly eager pair of shoppers as he did. _How can people go_ shopping _in weather like this?_

"Your boss," she stated flatly. "Is his office normally about as warm and comforting as a freezer on Hoth or what? I mean, I know Sith aren't exactly all fuzzy nerfs and whatnot, but I'm _still_ shaking."

Emron took a moment to glance around to see who might be listening before responding. His master's last words were still ringing in his mind, and he was reminded of how Baras had said the exact same thing back on Korriban.

 _"_ _I am_ always _watching."_

"I…"

 _"_ _Every thought that you think is laid bare before me."_

"…would not expect him to change. Certainly not any time soon, at the very least," he finished, choosing his words with extreme care, lest Baras decide to make good on his promises at that very moment.

He was being paranoid. Rationally, he knew this. Yet it was hard to remain rational when he remembered that his master was an immensely powerful and feared Dark Lord with a reputation for knowing facts that had been buried so deep that even the buriers themselves did not know them.

Vette scoffed at his answer. He could not blame her, after all it had been an exceedingly weak response, but all the same her reaction angered him. What did she expect him to do? March into Baras' office, thumb his nose at the man, and expect Baras to simply brush the whole matter off with a good natured laugh? His actions, now more than ever, had consequences. Exceptionally _lethal_ consequences should he manage to mess up badly enough.

He suppressed the emotions as quickly as they bubbled up. Even when she did annoy him, which, he admitted to himself, was an event that was not as infrequent as he may have wished, Vette was the closest thing he had to an ally at the moment. He needed her, at least for now. Plain and simple.

As they turned a corner, Emron attempted to change the subject. "Back there, I couldn't help but notice your reaction when Baras said 'slave.' What was that all about?"

Even over the ceaseless sound of the rain pounding against the duracrete street, Vette's sigh was audible. "Just…my past being brought up is all. Not something I really like talking about, y'know?"

He did know. "Ah," was all he offered in lieu of a response.

Everyone had a story like that. He had a story like that.

 _Another time, another life._

Neither of them said another word to each other as they continued to navigate the maze that was Kaas City's streets, the awkward silence that seemed to be constant factor in everything he did accompanying them every step of the way. _Congratulations,_ he thought to himself as doorway after doorway passed them by, _yet another stellar social performance on the part of yours truly, wannabe Sith Lord Emron. This is why you don't try to talk to people about their personal lives, moron. You blunder on through their personal issues like a bantha through a minefield until it all either ends in an awkward silence or them trying to kill you. Sometimes both. Force._

"Listen…" he half said, half mumbled after they had been walking for a while longer, "Why don't you go ahead and take some time off?" He motioned towards a nearby cantina, its blaringly-loud neon sign portraying a dancing Twi'lek in order to proudly advertise its status as a sleazy den of iniquity. "Get yourself a drink and some real food. Don't think you've had any of that since Vaiken."

"What, was it something I said?" Vette asked, before her voice became suspicious. "Oh wait, let me guess, this is the part where you less-than-subtly try to get yourself out of my sights so you can disappear for good, right?" Her voice rapidly became hostile as she continued. "Or is this because I wouldn't talk about-"

 _Shavit Emron, you've gone and stuck your foot in your mouth again. You should earn a medal for pulling that off so rapidly._ "Nonono," he reassured her rapidly, not eager for another incident involving an angry Vette. Sith he might be, but Emron knew when he was well and truly outmatched. "It's just that I can handle this by myself is all, in case you want to take a break. You volunteered to try and keep up with me, I didn't force you to come along after all."

"How am I supposed to pay for this break?" Vette asked, hostility fading even though the suspicion still remained. "It's not like you're paying me or anything."

"Oh?" Emron mused at that little dilemma before raising a wry eyebrow at the Twi'lek standing in front of him with a hand on her hip. "That's a very valid point," he eventually conceded before an ironic smirk bloomed across his face. "However, I did happen to see you helping yourself to the personal effects of several Republic troopers back on the _Star_ when you thought no one was looking."

"Ah krif, you got me," she said with a smirk of her own now. "Well, you know how it is. Anything not bolted down is mine, and anything that can be pried up isn't bolted down."

"Clearly. I was surprised you could still walk by the end there."

"Fine, I guess I can do with some me time. Just try not to get yourself killed or something while I'm not there to do all the work for you, okay?"

"Yes _mom,_ " he drawled, "I promise that I'll attempt to not murder everyone I see. No guarantees though."

"Typical Sith." With that she was gone, dashing across the street so as to not stay in the rain any longer than she had to. He watched until her form disappeared in the darkened entryway before moving on towards the cargo port.

Perhaps he couldn't trust anyone. But perhaps, given time, he could come to trust her.

It was a start, at the very least.

* * *

It took Emron the entirety of another hour to make his way through Kaas City's crowded streets and cramped alleyways before he approached the cargo port. Far above his head, merchant vessels and air buses roared through the sky, carrying workers and equipment to and from destinations all across the city.

Idly, he wondered what it would be like to have a normal life, like those people who were obliviously buzzing about above him. A life without constant bloodshed and meeting an assuredly violent end at the hands of either the Republic or his own colleagues was a tempting thought. No Dark Lord of the Sith for a master, no ancient honor codes, no constant looking over his shoulder to make sure someone was not about to plant a lightsaber through his back. Just a simple, uncomplicated man doing his best to live a simple, uncomplicated life.

But at the end of the day, he supposed, a dream was all that it would ever be. Even if there ever had been a chance for a life like that, it had long since disappeared for good, if such a chance had even existed in the first place. There truly was no going back for him.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, trying to ignore the twinge of melancholy that that trail of thought had provoked. _Thinking about that stuff isn't going to do you any good. Might as well not do it in the first place._

Still, he thought as the turned the last corner standing between him and the cargo port, it was a nice dream.

The port itself was a fairly unimpressive structure when compared to the rest of the city. Sprawling and utilitarian, it was designed for one purpose, and judging by the sheer amount of sentients that crowded the port, it served that purpose quite well. Emron weaved his way past knots of tough-looking off duty workers and shifty offworlders, smugglers if he had to hazard a guess.

 _No matter how stringent the security, people always have their ways._

It was then that he noticed two armed groups following behind him. After giving them a moment of thought, he realized that they had been following him for some time, though he had foolishly dismissed their shadowing as coincidental. After all, he was hardly the only one to make use of the cargo port, and his pursuers had previously been able to maintain a sufficient distant that allowed them to conceal their weaponry from his view. It certainly had not helped that his mind had been wandering for nearly the entire duration of the trip.

 _And Baras warned me about this. Stupid of me to let my guard down. Alright, focus, these guys don't seem like professionals, let alone look like ones. Plausible deniability should I happen to slice them into tiny pieces?_

He was silently thankful that he had spent all that time on the _Talon_ working on improving his mental capabilities. A quick mental probe on both groups revealed that neither of the parties were working together. Two rival Lords then, each trying to muscle in the other's power grab. Further digging revealed that the leaders not only knew, but that they also thoroughly reviled each other. He quickly removed his probe after that. Neither of them were particularly bright, but the last thing he wanted to do was alert them to the fact that he knew about their presence.

He continued to sedately yet determinedly walk towards the elevator that was marked as the entrance to docking bay B7, a plan forming in his head as he neared it. _First things first, can't let them reach me before I get to the elevator._ Reaching out into the Force he subtly yet firmly convinced the minds of a nearby group of spacers that they all suddenly and urgently needed to rush to the 'freshers to relieve themselves. He smirked as he watched as the group sprinted off directly into the path of the group to his right, forcing them to stop and try to push their way through the mob unsuccessfully.

With one group delayed, he turned his attention to the group to the left. Casting about with his eyes, he saw a group of workers just coming off of their break. Redirecting the tendrils of the Force from the spacers, he planted rumbles of discontent within their minds, strengthening their unhappiness with each passing moment. Within seconds they all started to march off to their overseer's office, fully intending to protest the short duration of their breaks. A march that just so happened to bring them into contact with the unmolested group of pursuers, bringing them to a grinding halt as well.

As he stepped into the elevator, he had to remind himself as he looked at the frustrated expressions that had been embedded upon the faces of his shadowers that Dark Lords were not supposed to giggle at the sight of a job well done. Such pettiness was beneath the Order of the Sith, after all.

He would have been lying, however, if he said that the elevator was not filled with laughter as it sped him down the shaft to the awaiting cargo pad.

* * *

He had managed to gain managed to mostly regain control over himself. The sight of an awaiting Imperial officer and a pair of guards standing in front of an unmarked cargo ship was enough to bring the remaining rogue sectors of his mind back under his grasp.

Walking up to the trio, he was met with raised blasters and a single command from the officer. "Code," the man rasped, eyes wary as he took in the sight of the lightsaber hanging off of Emron's belt.

"Epsilon Delta Niner dash Alpha Seven," he responded.

The officer nodded at his guards, who proceeded to lower their weapons at the confirmation. "Apologies Lord, Darth Baras' orders. No telling who might try to impersonate his apprentice. Alright you two, get the prisoner off the ship and ready for transport."

"Your caution is admirable…," he trailed off and motioned at the man, fingers asking the unspoken question.

"Oh, sorry my Lord. Commander Lanklyn, at your service. Pleasure to meet Lord Baras' newest apprentice."

"I'm sure. Listen Commander, you've got two groups coming for your prize, so get your men back out here, now."

"Two? What?" the other man asked, flustered, before comming his men. "How many?"

"A handful each. Military grade weapons from what I could see, but hardly any armor. Shields are also doubtful," Emron said. Lanklyn swore before turning to yell at his guards to hurry up and exit the ship.

"Clever trick up there," came a voice from behind them. "Too bad it wasn't nearly clever enough."

 _Shavit, those distractions did not last as long as I was hoping. Oh well._

Turning around revealed a pair of poorly-equipped thugs pointing a couple of beat-up blaster pistols at him, along with another that was laying atop a stack of shipping crates and bracing an oversized rifle in the general direction of his head.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice overly polite.

"Sure you could," said a scruffy-looking man in a hood. Emron guessed this one was the leader, mostly because he had slightly less dirt on him than the other two. "You could step away from the frozen popsicle before we blast your asses to dust."

"Well, well. If it isn't little Slestack!" a booming voice came echoing across the bay from near the elevator. The three gangers backed off in order to turn and face the speaker, giving Emron a look at the new intruders.

A trio of humans led by a Houk stalked across the bay, ignoring the weapons pointed their way. Emron immediately came to the conclusion that these newcomers were either extremely confident or extremely stupid, given their decision to talk first and shoot later.

"Ugh, this oaf," the hooded man, Slestack apparently, muttered beneath his breath. "I see you somehow managed to find your way here, TuMarr," he said in a louder tone.

"You here for frozen man too?" the Houk asked, ignoring Slestack. "That good, looks like I get to kill two stones with one bird!"

Emron suppressed a flinch at the alien's atrocious grammar, instead choosing to reach out into the Force. There was no way he could take them all on, not even with back up in the form on Lanklyn and his men. Thankfully all the hostility between the two of them was bleeding into the Force and would make what he was about to do all the more easier.

While the pair of them were busy glaring at each other, Lanklyn sidled up to him and whispered into his ear. "What do we do now my Lord?" he asked, barely audible.

"Relax and watch how it's done," he whispered back. "TuMarr, right?" he asked the Houk while gently prodding at the aggression centers in the big alien's brain, "Your friend here was just talking about." He began needling at Slestack's temper as he mentioned the man.

The human proved to be even easier to manipulate than he thought. "No I wasn't!" Slestack snapped at him.

"Oh? What he saying?" TuMarr grunted, his eyes glittering as he glared at his rival suspiciously.

"Oh, you know. This and that. Said you were some idiotic wannabe gangster who couldn't find his ass with both hands and a detailed diagram. That, and that he was going to take my prisoner and be long gone before your primitive brain could learn to work the elevator."

The anger on TuMarr's face was incredibly visceral upon hearing those words. "Maybe I not want rock man any longer!" an explosion of hot air erupted from his mouth as he bellowed at Slestack. "Maybe I just kill you instead Slestack!"

"I'd like to see you try," Slestack snarled back, making no attempt to deny anything that Emron had just said.

Emron gave the two of them one last good poke before withdrawing from their minds. Turning his head towards Lanklyn, he muttered, "Have your men mop up the survivors. I'll get the prisoner ready."

He ignored TuMarr's roar of anger as he turned around, deaf to the sound of blasters ringing within the closed bay. He levitated the hunk of carbonite onto a repulsorlift for transport as Lanklyn gave the order to open fire to his guards, who promptly cut down whatever gangsters were still alive after the first few salvos. He only began paying attention once more after Lanklyn and his troopers had dealt with any surviving wounded and had returned to gawk at him while he put the final touches on the prisoner.

"Let's get out of here before more show up, yes?" he asked before moving past them and towards the elevator, leaving them to catch up.

* * *

"Thank you for your assistance, my Lord," Lanklyn said as his men finished securing the prisoner within the shuttle. "Not sure what you did, but I'm really grateful that you did it."

Emron merely chuckled in response. "I simply eased the conversation towards where it was inevitably going to end is all."

"Well we're all still breathing, so I'm not going to complain in the slightest," the commander said as he walked up the ramp and into the shuttle. "Sure you don't want a ride? It's right nasty outside now," he asked once more.

Emron glanced out the window towards the weather outside of the cargo port. It had gone from the mere torrential downpour from earlier to an end of the world flood now, but he still had to collect Vette from the cantina. "Sadly, I'm going to have to pass Commander."

Lanklyn, to his credit, merely shrugged at his response. "Your call my Lord," he said. "We'll take the prisoner to Lord Baras and let him know where you are."

Emron nodded and backed up as the shuttle pilot began to prepare for takeoff. "Appreciate it!" he yelled over the roar of the engines. Then the bay door opened, and the shuttle, along with its priceless cargo, was gone, leaving Emron standing alone.

With a sigh, he turned towards the exit. "The things I do for others…" he muttered as he surreptitiously stole somebody's umbrella that had been left near the door. It was one thing for him to turn down a ride, it was another to expect him to walk into a typhoon without making at least a symbolic gesture about it.

But then, he mused as he eyed a security camera that seemed to follow his every step as he walked outside into the howling rain, symbolic gestures were perhaps he all he could do these days.

"Something to think about anyways," he said, voice lost to the wind.


End file.
